"^ 

IG553 
poe 


IRLF 


M 

ii 


POEMS. 


POEMS 


BY 


WILLIAM   BELCHER   GLAZIER. 


HALLO  WELL: 
MASTERS,  SMITH   AND    COMPANY 

MDCCCLIII. 


& 

6|- 


ENTEKKD  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1852, 
BY    WILLIAM    B.    GLAZIER, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Maine. 


TO 


CHARLES  COPELAND  NUTTER, 


I   DEDICATE   THIS    VOLUME    IN    MEMORY    OF    AN   OLD   AND 


UNFAILING     FRIENDSHIP. 


1* 


M191938 


INDEX. 


PAGE 

THE    HOSTEL               . 13 

THE   WILLOW    BY   THE    BROOK             .            ...            .            .  20 

SPRING   VIOLETS 23 

THE    OLD   MAN'S    CHRISTMAS    REVERIE                   ....  26 

NEARER   TO    THEE               .            .            .            .            ...            -  31 

THE    RIVER   OF    SLEEP                   34 


AT    SEA 41 

THE    STATESMAN  .        .   .  .  43 


Vlll  INDEX. 

PAGE 

THE    EARLIEST   IDOL           .            .            ,            .           .            .            .            .  45 

PEMMAQUID    LIGHT 48 

SONNET  TO  A  SWEET  SINGER 51 

GRANDMOTHER'S  BIRTHDAY             52 

MARY             57 

THE    HUNTER              .            .            .   ,.,... 59 

VALVINUM 62 

SHE    SLEEPS 65 

FAIRY  LAND 67 

LOVE'S  ANSWER 71 

LOST  ALICE             74 

THE  ITALIAN  ORGAN  PLAYER'S  VESPERS          ....  77 

POOR  ROVER 80 

ADIEU 81 

COLLEGE  FRIENDS 83 

LOVE'S  DAWN 85 

AN  ORISON  OF  ABELARD 87 


INDEX.  IX 

PAGE 
IN    ABSENCE  *  ,     '    -  .  .  .        ....  .  .  .  89 

BOTHWELL        .....            . 91 

VALENTINE       .  .    .  ..   »  ...   .  .     .          .     .     .  94 

LEAVES  AND  HEARTS 96 

A  SONG      .     .    ..    ..     .    -.    „..    <.  .   :  .     .  97 

THE   CREMATION •       \   •  99 

THE    ROSARY .  .105 

CAPE-COTTAGE    AT   SUNSET         .         -. 107 

THY  NAME .  .109 

TO    ONE  AWAY .           .            •  HI 

AT  LAST .  113 

LAUNCHING                  .           .            .           .            .          ..          ....           .  114 

TO    E.    G.    H.,   AN  INFANT 116 

OUR   FLAG 118 

JANET s..            .  120 

THE    HEALTH              ....            . 122 

THE   SEA-SIDE  123 


X  INDEX. 

PAGE 

STANZAS 125 

\VERT   THOU   BUT   MINE 127 

STANZAS .128 

THE  FLEMING'S  TRUE  LOVE 129 

LAND-BREEZES 131 

THE    LOST   PLEIAD              - 134 

LITTLE   NELL             vi'           -, 139 

LENORE               .            . 142 

FLIGHT 146 

A    VAIN    REQUEST                  153 

THE    CHURCH-YARD   AT    HOME 155 

BALLAD                       .<,           .            .           , 157 

HOMELESS 159 

THE   LEE-SHORE 161 

MAMIE                 164 

MARY'S  WALK 166 

L'  ENVOY                167 


POEMS. 


POEMS. 


THE   HOSTEL. 


LONG  ago  in  merry  England, 

Sheltered  from  the  dust  and  heat 

By  old  elms,  a  quiet  Hostel 

Near  the  road-side  wooed  retreat. 


At  the  door  a  sign  was  swinging, 
Blazoned  with  a  quaint  device, 

Telling  how  good  cheer  and  lodging 
Might  be  had  for  little  price. 


'Neath  its  eaves  the  dripping  water, 
In  a  trough  fell  bright  and  chill, 

There  the  panting,  wearied  horses 
Of  the  wagoner  drank  their  fill. 
2 


14  THE    HOSTEL. 

There  the  host,  so  red  and  burly, 

Drew  for  all  a  cheering  draught, 

There  the  traveler,  tired  and  dusty, 
From  the  foaming  flagon  quaffed. 


'Round  the  walls  were  hung  the  tankards, 
Filled  so  oft  with  mighty  ale, 

On  whose  burnished  sides  the  firelight 
Fitfully  would  flash  and  fail. 


And  from  old  and  oaken  rafters, 
Joints  and  flitches  thickly  hung, 

There  the  pilgrim,  faint  and  hungry, 
Often  longing  glances  flung. 

Many  a  time  to  jovial  carols, 

Shook  the  windows,  shook  the  floor, 
Many  a  time  the  host  so  burly, 

Ne'er  till  daybreak  barred  his  door. 


Once,  a  troop  of  weary  travelers, 
Faint  and  failing  on  the  road, 

Saw  how,  on  the  Hostel  windows, 
Red  the  summer  sunset  glowed. 


THE    HOSTEL.  15 

At  the  old  and  much  worn  door-sill 

Stood  the  host,  whose  shining  face, 

Flushed  and  ruddy  as  the  sunset, 

Had  for  them  a  wondrous  grace. 


Frank  and  hearty  was  his  greeting, 

And  they  'lighted  from  their  steeds, 

Entered  in  the  ancient  Hostel, 

Pressed  its  floor  bestrewn  with  reeds. 


Then  was  broached  the  oldest  hogshead, 
Then  was  served  the  choicest  fare, 

Then  arose  the  jest  and  laughter, 
Then  was  stifled  every  care. 


They  were  guests  of  different  station, 
Knight  and  yeoman,  rich  and  poor, 

But  the  grades  of  rank  and  riches 
Vanished  at  the  Hostel  door. 


There  they  sat  until  the  shadows 

Lengthened  of  the  elm  trees  old, 

There  they  sat  until  the  moonrise 

Made  the  tankards  shine  like  gold. 


16  THE    HOSTEL. 

Timidly  the  door  was  opened, 

And  a  vagrant  minstrel  pressed, 

With  a  faltering  step,  the  threshold, 
Seeking  shelter,  seeking  rest. 


But  a  stalwart  knight,  arising, 

Said  "  Sir  Minstrel,  never  fear  ! 

Enter  in  and  sit  beside  us, 

Thou  art  gladly  welcome  here." 


He  was  young  and  slightly  fashioned, 
With  a  face,  as  woman's,  fair, 

And  adown  his  neck  and  shoulders, 
Fell  his  long  and  golden  hair. 


Then  they  placed  him  at  their  table, 
Gave  to  him  the  highest  seat, 

Filled  for  him  the  foaming  flagon, 
Set  before  him  wine  and  meat. 


There  he  sat  amid  the  yeomen, 

'Mid  the  Knights  so  stout  and  tall, 

And  his  soft  and  wondrous  beauty 
Fell,  like  sunshine,  on  them  all. 


THE    HOSTEL.  17 


Lovingly  the  moonlight  lingered 
O'er  his  long  and  waving  hair, 

Stealing  on  his  gentle  features, 

Making  fairness  still  more  fair. 


But  at  length  their  meal  was  ended, 

And  they  made  him  this  request,  — 

"  Sing  to  us,  oh  gentle  Minstrel, 
Sing,  before  we  go  to  rest." 


In  his  hand  his  harp  is  lying, 

O'er  its  strings  his  fingers  sweep, 

And  the  music  that  had  slumbered 
In  its  chords  awakes  from  sleep. 


Then  his  voice  with  it  is  blended, 
Laden  with  a  warlike  strain, 

How  the  flower  of  England's  warriors 
Conquered  on  the  battle  plain. 


Close  his  listeners  press  around  him, 

For,  within  each  good  knight's  breast ,: 

Memories  of  hard  fought  battles 
Waken  from  their  wild  unrest. 
2* 


18  THE    HOSTEL. 

Now  his  strain  is  lower,  sweeter, 

Love  is  lingering  on  the  strings, 

'Tis  a  tale  of  burning  passion, 

That  the  vagrant  minstrel  sings. 


And  from  many  a  quivering  eyelid, 
And  on  many  a  manly  cheek, 

Falls  the  tear  that  tells  their  secret, 
Secret  that  they  may  not  speak. 


Slower,  slower  steals  the  measure, 
And,  amid  the  breathless  calm, 

From  his  harp  ascends  to  Heaven, 
A  devout  and  holy  psalm. 


Then  is  traced  upon  each  bosom 
Of  the  cross  the  holy  sign, 

Then  awaken  in  each  spirit, 

Yearnings  sacred  and  divine. 


And  the  moonlight  filled  the  Hostel, 
With  a  strange  and  solemn  light ; 

With  its  rays  the  music  mingled, 
Making  mystical  the  night.. 


THE    HOSTEL.  19 

Ceased  the  minstrel  ;  but  the  echoes 
Yet  were  throbbing  in  the  room, 

As  when  after  flowers  are  withered, 
Still  there  lingers  their  perfume. 

Ere  his  listeners  knew  his  absence, 

From  their  midst  the  bard  had  gone, 

Passed  across  the  much  worn  door-sill, 
Went  out  in  the  night  alone. 


O'er  the  guests  of  that  old  Hostel, 
Fell,  that  night,  a  sleep  serene, 

And  the  memory  of  the  minstrel 

In  their  hearts,  till  death,  was  green. 


Thus,  along  life's  weary  journey, 

Song,  a  gift  from  Heaven,  is  thrown, 

Strong  to  rouse  each  generous  passion, 
Sweet  in  memory  when  'tis  flown. 


THE  WILLOW  BY  THE  BROOK. 


Still  it  groweth  with  golden  branches, 
In  that  quiet,  shadowy  nook, 

Still  it  bendeth  to  kiss  the  water, 
When  by  the  west  wind  shook, 

Still  the  wealth  of  Summer  is  lavished 
On  that  Willow  by  the  Brook. 


Long  ago  I  lingered  beneath  it, 

When  my  cheek  was  hot  with  youth, 
Ere  Falsehood  and  Change  had  entered 

In   the  field  of  Love  and  Truth, 
Ere  my  spirit  became  a  gleaner 

For  the  scattered  ears,  like  Ruth. 


It  was  through  your  pendulous  branches, 

In'a  blessed  night  of  June, 
That  the  beautiful  stars  of  evening, 


THE    WILLOW   BY    THE    BROOK.  21 

As  they  heralded  the  moon, 
Saw  a  hope  in  my  heart  arising, 
A  hope  that  set  too  soon. 


Softly,  softly  hurried  the  waters 
As  they  sought  the  silent  lea  ; 

They  were  bearing  upon  their  bosom 
A  blossom  dropped  from  thee, 

In  my  heart  a  current  was  flowing 
That  bore  how  much  from  me  ! 


Is  there  never  a  word  of  warning 

That  can  come  from  lifeless  things  ? 

Must  the  flower  that  tells  your  passion 
Ne'er  breathe  the  woe  it  brings  ? 

Why  did  not  your  boughs,  Oh  Willow  ! 
Fold  me  'round  like  Angel  wings  ? 


Though  the  hand  was  clasping  and  gentle, 
And  the  lip  was  soft  and  sweet, 

Though  the  heart  was  hastily  throbbing, 
That  upon  my  bosom  beat, 

Why  was  not  that  brook  a  barrier 
Over  which  we  might  not  meet  ? 


22  THE    WILLOW    BY    THE    BROOK. 

Years  have  vanished,  but  yet  the  willow 
Is  fringed  as  then  with  leaves, 

Still,  through  its  tremulous  branches, 
Shadow  with  sunlight  weaves, 

And  the  brook,  those  branches  caressing, 
Still  over  its  pebbles  grieves. 


And  the  bees  in  the  innermost  foliage, 
Make  a  pleasant  dreamy  sound  ; 

In  the  heart  of  every  blossom 

They  have  stores  of  richness  found  ; 

And  they  fly  but  slowly  homeward 
With  their  fruit  of  labor  crowned. 


So,  amid  thy  leaves,  Oh  Willow  ! 

Does  Memory's  music  ring, 
And  under  thy  drooping  branches, 

I  feel  once  more  life's  spring, 
And  dreams  of  the  Past  to  my  spirit 

Their  fragrant  treasures  bring. 


SPRING  VIOLETS. 


What  tender  thoughts  around  the  heart  will  cling ! 

What  memories  the  spirit  will  beset ! 
Whene'er  we  find  the  nursling  of  the  Spring, 

Its  first,  young  Violet. 


Dear  prophet  of  the  Summer  time  thou  art, 

And,  though  the  April  wind  is  bleak  and  cold, 

A  ray  of  sunshine  glances  through  my  heart, 
Shot  from  thy  leaves'  blue  fold. 


The  gaudier  rose  hath  not  put  forth  her  buds, 
The  buttercup  is  no  where  seen  to  bloom, 

Undecked  by  leaves  still  stand  the  wintry  woods, 
But  thou,  the  meek,  hast  come  ! 


24  SPRING    VIOLETS. 

How  hast  thou  borne  in  all  thy  gentleness, 

The  clouds  and  rain  that  frowned  upon  thy  birth, 

And  yet,  unwithered,  kept  thy  power  to  bless 
The  weary  ones  of  Earth  ? 


Who  loves  thee  not  ?  — the  sturdy  son  of  toil 
Gazes  with  fondness  in  thine  upturned  eye, 

And,  where  thy  quiet  beauty  glads  the  soil, 
His  step  goes  lightly  by. 


Let  him,  worn  down  with  manhood's  strivings,  say 
If  thy  calm  beauty,  pure  and  undefiled, 

Recalleth  not  the  happy,  heedless  day 
He  plucked  thee,  when  a  child. 


How  oft  hast  thou  become  to  loving  hearts, 
A  symbol  of  their  passion  and  desire, 

To  such  thy  very  timidness  imparts 
Strength  to  their  hidden  fire. 


For,  in  thy  soft  and  fragile  beauty,  they, 

As  in  a  vision,  see  the  loved  one's  charm,  — 

"  This  hue  but  mimics  her  sweet  eye,"  they  say, 
"  This  gracefulness  her  form." 


SPRING    VIOLETS.  25 

A  lesson  to  my  spirit  thou  dost  bring, 

Sweet  Violet !  wet  with  April's  fickle  shower, 
The  heart,  like  Earth,  must  ever  have  its  spring, 

And  Love  is  its  first  flower. 


Long  ere  Ambition  opes  its  gaudy  flowers, 

Ere  Worldly  Pleasures  waft  their  sweet  perfume, 

Or  buds  of  memory  burst  'neath  sorrow's  showers, 
Thou,  first,  fond  Love  !  dost  bloom. 


Thy  petals  may  be  wet  with  bitter  tears, 

Thy  leaves  be  ruffled  by  the  saddest  sighs, 

And  still  thy  blossom  timidly  uprears 
Beneath  the  darkest  skies. 


And,  from  that  blossom,  in  the  starless  night, 

Gleams  out  a  promise  of  Hope's  cloudless  noon, 

Thus  trembles  in  the  Eastern  skies  the  light 
Of  the  unrisen  moon. 


Still  bloom,  ye  Violets !  and  make  glad  the  earth 
With  blest  foreshado wings  of  sunny  days, 

Still  in  the  heart,  oh  First  Love !  may  thy  birth 
A  light  in  darkness  raise. 
3 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  CHRISTMAS  REVERIE. 


I'M    getting  old,  the  locks  that  once  about  my  temples 

curled, 
Are  growing  thin  and   silvery  with   much  rubbing  'gainst 

the  world  ; 
And  there  are  wrinkles  on  my  brow,  and  crows-feet  'round 

my  eyes, 

Enough  to  give  to  me  the  look  of  being  old  and  wise ; 
And  yet,  when  Christmas  comes  along  with  all  its  mirth 

and  joy, 

Upon  my  word,  I  can't  resist  this  feeling  like  a  boy ; 
The  same  old  passions  waken  at  the  belfry's  merry  chime, 
That  stirred  me  fifty  years  ago  at  happy  Christmas  time. 


How  still  the   snow  is  falling,  and   how  lightly  it  comes 

down, 
And  covers  with  a  stainless  sheet  the  landscape  dull  and 

brown  ; 


THE    OLD    MAN'S    CHRISTMAS    REVERIE.  27 

But  stiller  and  more  lightly  fell  the  snow  of  age  on  me, 
And  it  covers  with  as  chill  a  sheet  Life's  sere  and  withered 

tree  ; 
The  summer  sun  shall  bare  the  Earth  and  bid  its  blossoms 

blow, 
No  sun  of  youth  can  ever  melt  Time's  frost  from  off  my 

brow; 
But  what  of  that,  my  heart  ne'er  felt  of  age  the  winter 

time, 
For  it  beats  as  fast  as  ever  at  the  merry  Christmas  chime. 


I  remember,  when  a  restless  boy,  I  used  to  count  the  days 
Before,  within  the  fire  place  huge,  the  Christmas  log  would 

blaze  ; 
How  countless    pies    and  mighty  joints  would  crowd  my 

busy  dreams, 
And  Christmas  sports   would  ever  fill    my  school-indited 

themes  ; 
How,  early  in  the  morning,  while  the  night  still  fought 

with  day, 
I   arose,   and    sought    the   chambers,  where    my   elders, 

slumbering,  lay, 
And  shouted  out  a  fragment  of  some  rough  and  ancient 

rhyme 
"  Awake,   nor   longer  slumber,   for  'tis  happy  Christmas 

time." 


When  boyhood  fled  and  youth  came  on,  then  Christmas 
day  to  me 

Still  brought  its  old  delights  again,  still  wore  its  look  of 
glee; 

But  stormier  passions  swept  my  soul  and  love  was  in  my 
heart, 

A  love  that  maketh  even  now  my  memory's  dearest  part ; 

The  mistletoe  hung  on  the  wall,  and,  in  the  firelight's  flush, 

A  gentle  maiden  turned  her  lips  to  mine  with  many  a 
blush  ; 

Its  branches  waved  above  us  and  aroused  a  love  sublime 

That  erst  had  slumbered  in  my  heart  till  that  sweet  Christ- 
mas time. 


Years  spent  on  land  and  sea  rolled  by,  and  home  again 

once  more, 
And  kindly  hearts  and  welcome  hands  still  met  me  at  the 

door; 
But  there  was  one  whose  gentle  cheek  grew  crimson  at  my 

voice, 
Whose  low,  soft  tones  of  greeting  made  my  heart  the  most 

rejoice ; 

The  same  old  revels  came  again,  but  with  a  holier  joy 
Than  that  which  filled  my  spirit  when  a  wild  and  wanton 

boy; 


THE    OLD    MAN'S    CHRISTMAS    REVERIE.  29 

For  at  home  I  found  a  treasure  that  enriched   no  other 

clime, 
And  I  won,  as  well  as  wooed  my  bride,  at  happy  Christmas 

time. 


Another  Christmas  came  apace,  but  came  'mid  storm  and 
snow, 

And  a  chilling  sense  of  sorrow  was  upon  my  pulse's  flow ; 

For  my  heart's  sweet  flower  was  blighted,  my  light  of  life 
had  fled, 

The  bride  I  won  at  Christmas  time,  at  Christmas  time  was 
dead  ; 

The  house  was  hushed  with  loneliness,  no  sound  of  mirth 
was  there, 

And  in  its  place  there  only  rose  the  low  sob  of  despair ; 

But  my  breaking  heart  felt  lighter  at  the  old  bell's  joyous 
chime, 

For  I  thought  of  Him  who  came  to  save,  of  old,  at  Christ- 
mas time. 


Time  lightens  every  sorrow,  and,  although  it  still  remained, 
The  memory  of  the  lost  one  no  more  my  spirit  pained  ; 
And  as  each  Christmas  came  along,  when,  gathered  'round 
the  board 


3* 


We  prolonged  the  merry  carol,  or  exchanged  the  friendly 

word, 

I  filled  a  cup  in  silence,  and  drained  it  with  a  tear, 
To  her,  who,  now  an  angel,  had  on  earth  been  very  dear  ; 
And  then  the  happy  influence  of  the  belfry's  merry  chime 
Came  o'er  me  like  a  blessing,  and  I  blessed  the  Christmas 

time. 


We  have  grown  old  together,  dear  friend,  and  we  have 
known 

No  coldness  in  each  other's  hearts,  or  in  each  other's  tone ; 

There  have  many  sunk  beside  us  who  in  youth  were  gay 
as  we, 

And  we  hang  upon  Life's  branches  like  those  dry  leaves 
on  that  tree  ; 

This  Christmas  day  may  be  our  last,  so  pile  the  blazing 
fire, 

Fill  up  the  quaint  old  tankard,  and  draw  each  other  nigher ; 

And  list  the  toast  I  give  you,  "  May  the  old  bell's  joyous 
chime 

Ne'er  fall  on  hearts  less  glad  than  ours  at  this  sweet  Christ- 
mas time  !" 


NEARER  TO  THEE/ 


YEARS,  years  have  fled,  since,  hushed  in  thy  last  slumber, 
They  laid  thee  down  beneath  the  old  elm  tree ; 

But  with  a  patient  heart  each  day  I  number, 
Because  it  brings  me  nearer  still  to  thee. 


The  twilight  comes  and  robes  in  softened  splendor 
All  that  is  beautiful  on  land  or  sea, 

And  o'er  my  spirit  flings  an  influence  tender, 
For  in  that  hour  I  nearer  seem  to  thee. 


The  night  is  gone,  and,  as  the  mists  of  morning 
Before  the  Day  God's  burning  presence  flee, 

Then  in  my  heart  a  welcome  light  is  dawning, 
That  cheers  me  as  I  nearer  press  to  thee. 


32  NEARER    TO    THEE. 

I  sometimes  think  thy  spirit  kindly  watches 
Over  the  heart  that  loved  so  tenderly, 

For  there  are  rapturous  moments  when  it  catches, 
As  if  in  dreams,  a  blessed  glimpse  of  thee. 


In  those  sweet  seasons  thou  dost  come  before  me, 
With  loveliness  that  Earth  may  never  see, 

I  feel  thy  presence  like  a  blessing  o'er  me, 
And  then  I  know  I  nearer  am  to  thee. 


When  from  these  dreams  I  tearfully  awaken, 
Colder  than  ever  seems  the  earth  to  me  ; 

But  yet  all  hopes  have  not  my  heart  forsaken, 
Am  I  not  drawing  nearer,  nearer  thee  ? 


Thou  wert  Life's  angel !  how  I  loved,  adored  thee, 
Ere  death  had  set  thy  gentle  spirit  free  ; 

And  now  thou  know'st  how  oft  I  have  implored  thee 
To  bring  me  nearer,  nearer  still  to  thee. 


Nearer  to  thee  ;  —  to  night  the  stars  are  burning 
In  skies  that  must  thy  blessed  dwelling  be  ; 

Thou  canst  not  leave  them,  unto  Earth  returning, 
But  I  am  pressing  nearer  still  to  thee. 


NEARER    TO    THEE.  33 

Nearer  to  thee ;  —  how  long,  how  long  encumbered 

With  mortal  fetters  must  my  spirit  be  ; 
With  but  one  wish,  one  hope  through  Life  I've  slumbered, 

The  wish,  the  hope  to  be  yet  nearer  thee. 


Nearer  to  thee  ;  —  I  know  my  prayer  is  granted, 
I  know  thy  spirit  now  is  close  to  me ; 

Not,  not  in  vain  this  hope  my  heart  hath  haunted, 
Each  pulse-beat  brings  me  nearer,  nearer  thee. 


THE  RIVER  OF  SLEEP. 


IN  the  Land  of  Dreams  there  floweth 

A  river  with  gentlest  wave, 
And  there  walk  on  its  farther  border, 

Those  who  have  slept  in  the  grave ; 
There,  where  the  flowers  are  sweetest, 

Where  the  storm  and  the  night  ne'er  come, 
They  have  buried  the  Past  and  its  sadness, 

In  the  bliss  of  that  Dream-land  home. 


And  never  upon  that  river, 

Is  heard  the  dip  of  an  oar, 
And  never  the  foot  of  a  boatman, 

Is  pressed  on  its  pebbly  shore ; 
You  may  gaze  across  the  water, 

At  the  fields,  all  gemmed  with  flowers, 
You  may  catch  the  breath  of  the  fragrance, 

That  floats  from  the  sacred  bowers ; 


THE    RIVER    OF    SLEEP. 


35 


But  a  viewless  arm  and  mighty, 
Is  ever  about  you  thrown, 

And  you  never  may  cross  that  river, 
But  listen  and  gaze  alone. 


In  the  Land  of  Dreams,  an  Angel, 

Who  seemeth  a  watch  to  keep, 
Will  lead  you  down  to  the  river, 

That  must  ever,  unruffled,  sleep  ; 
And  a  whisper,  soft  and  haunting, 

And  a  fair  and  holy  hand, 
Will  utter  the  names  of  the  loved  ones, 

Will  point  you  to  where  they  stand. 


Across  that  river  there  wander, 

The  beautiful,  true  and  brave, 
And  the  sound  of  their  well  known  voices 

Comes  dreamily  over  the  wave ; 
Those  tones  from  lips  are  stealing, 

You  never  may  kiss  again  ; 
Those  forms  that  your  strained  eye  blesses, 

It  blesses,  alas,  in  vain  ; 
For  a  mortal  foot  may  never 

Be  set  on  the  farther  shore, 
And  the  sight  that  the  Angel  showeth, 

Perchance  she  may  show  no  more. 


SNOW. 


FALL  thickly  on  the  rose  bush, 

Oh,  faintly  falling  snow  ! 
For  she  is  gone  who  trained  its  branch, 

And  wooed  its  bud  to  blow, 


Cover  the  well  known  pathway, 
Oh,  damp  December  snow  ! 

Her  step  no  longer  lingers  there, 
When  stars  begin  to  glow. 


Melt  in  the  rapid  river, 

Oh,  cold  and  cheerless  snow  ! 
She  sees  no  more  its  sudden  wave, 

Nor  hears  its  foaming  flow. 


SNOW.  37 


Chill  every  song  bird's  music, 
Oh,  silent,  sullen  snow  ! 

I  cannot  hear  her  loving  voice, 
That  lulled  me  long  ago. 


Sleep  on  the  Earth's  broad  bosom, 

Oh,  weary,  winter  snow  ! 
Its  fragrant  flowers  and  blithesome  birds 

Should  with  its  loved  one  go. 


FEVER. 


THOU  hast  been  ill,  and  I  was  never  nigh  thee, 

I,  whose  existence  by  thine  own  was  fed ; 
I  did  not  watch  in  patient  silence  by  thee, 

I  did  not  pray  beside  thy  fevered  bed  : 
True,  there  were  gentler  forms  about  thee  moving, 

And  softer  hands  were  fondly  clasped  in  thine, 
But  yet  there  beat  not  there  a  heart  more  loving, 

There  was  no  keener  agony  than  mine. 


Could  I  have  kneeled  beside  thee,  and  have  told  thee 

All  my  full  heart  would  gladly  have  outpoured, 
Had  it  been  granted  in  these  arms  to  fold  thee, 

Gazing  into  thine  eyes  without  a  word, 
Or  to  have  kissed  thy  cheek,  so  hot  and  throbbing, 

Or  to  my  own  thine  aching  forehead  pressed, 
Or  to  have  soothed  thy  low  and  half  heard  sobbing, 

Thou  hadst  been  happy,  I  had  been  too  blest. 


FEVER.  39 

I  could  have  hushed  my  breath  while  thou  wert  sleeping, 

And,  when  thine  eyes  from  slumber  should  unclose, 
The  same  fond  glance  should  meet  them,  dimmed  with 
weeping, 

As  that  which  met  them  ere  they  sought  repose  : 
And  if  the  wing  of  Death  had  o'er  thee  hovered, 

With  its  slow  motion  swaying  Life's  dull  tide, 
From  its  chill  shadow  I  had  thee  recovered, 

Or  in  it  sunk,  unshrinking,  at  thy  side. 


Alas !  thou  might'st  have  died,  and  yet,  beside  thee, 

Have  never  seen  my  form,  or  heard  me  speak, 
Love's  last  fond  accents  might  have  been  denied  thee, 

Love's  latest  kiss  have  never  pressed  thy  cheek  ; 
I  might  have  mingled  in  the  world,  and  never 

Have  felt  the  blessing  that  thy  dying  prayer 
Was  for  the  one  that  soon  from  thee  would  sever, 

Was,  that  he  yet  thy  happiness  might  share. 


The  midnight  came,  and  I  could  never  slumber. 

The  morning  came,  and  brought  the  night's  unrest ; 
The  thought  that  thou  in  pain  the  hours  must  number, 

Filled  with  a  deeper  pain  my  quickened  breast. 
And  when,  at  eve,  the  stars,  so  calm  and  holy, 

Looked  on  the  earth,  there  came  the  bitter  fear 


40  FEVER. 

That  thy  pure  soul,  unmeet  for  mine  so  lowly, 
Must  seek  their  sky,  its  only  fitting  sphere. 


But  thou  art  spared  me,  oh !  this  stubborn  spirit, 

Unbent  before,  is  meek  and  thankful  now  ; 
The  garland  of  thy  love  I  did  not  merit, 

And  yet  it  is  not  plucked  from  off  my  brow  : 
And  in  my  dreams  thy  semblance,  like  an  Angel, 

Smiles  gently  on  me,  bids  me  not  to  fear ; 
Into  my  spirit  sinks  the  blest  Evangel, 

And  echoes  sweetly,  "  Be  thou  of  good  cheer." 


AT  SEA. 


THE  shafts  of  sunset  quivered 
In  the  bosom  of  the  wave, 

As  if  thus  the  heavenly  archer, 

Pointed  out  the  sick  man's  grave. 


There  were  faces  bending  o'er  him, 
As  the  step  of  Death  drew  nigh  ; 

You  might  hear  that  fearful  footfall, 
In  the  sufferer's  labored  sigh. 


There  were  tears  upon  each  eyelid, 
And  a  sadness  in  each  breath, 

For  a  common  heart  is  beating 
At  the  common  bed  of  Death. 
4* 


42  AT    SEA. 

At  the  silent  group  he  looketh, 

With  a  glance  that  seems  to  say, 

"  I  had  friends  I  left  behind  me, 

"  I  am  dying,  where  are  they  ?" 


Hearts  !  that  throbbed  for  him  at  twilight, 
Eyes  !  that  watched  for  him  at  morn, 

Felt  ye  then  no  pang  or  dimness, 

That  might  tell  you,  "  He  is  gone  ?" 


Where  the  golden  light  had  quivered, 
In  the  bosom  of  the  wave, 

Strange  hearts  and  hands  have  left  him, 
Sinking,  sinking  in  his  grave. 


THE  STATESMAN. 


ACROSS  Katahdin's  sullen  brow, 

Old  centuries  of  storm  have  swept ;  — 
The  look  of  pride  he  weareth  now, 

He  hath  for  ages  kept. 


The  strength  of  wind,  and  rain,  and  snow, 
The  strength  of  the  Eternal  Hill ! 

The  one  hath  withered  long  ago, 
The  other  liveth  still. 


A  mightier  mountain  meets  with  scorn, 
Insensate  clamor  hissing  by, 

Its  top  may  be  obscured  at  morn, 
At  noon  it  cleaves  the  sky. 


44  THE    STATESMAN. 

The  strength  of  envy,  falsehood,  hate  ; 

The  strength  of  the  Immortal  mind  ; 
That,  basely  born  to  baser  fate, 

This,  by  its  God  designed. 


The  bigot  to  misshapen  creeds, 

Between  whom  and  the  Truth  is  hung 
A  veil  of  doubt  and  falsehood,  reads 

With  slow  and  stammering  tongue. 


The  Statesman  looks  with  keenest  sight, 
Through  Error's  sad  and  dim  eclipse, 

And  speaks  Truth's  words  of  living  light, 
With  firm,  unfaltering  lips. 


Still  beat,  oh,  great  and  noble  heart ! 

Within  the  bosom  of  the  laws, 
And  still  be  strong,  oh,  stoutest  part 

Of  Truth's  most  holy  cause  ! 


THE  EARLIEST  IDOL. 


THE  heart  hath  many  memories, 
It  treasures  up  with  miser  care, 

And  'midst  them,  like  a  jewel,  lies 

That  of  first  Love,  the  brightest  there. 


Ah,  who  hath  not  remembrance  sweet 
Of  hours  that  passion  made  its  own, 

When  youth  and  loveliness  would  meet, 
And  give  to  Life  a  magic  tone. 


Such  hours  were  mine,  the  light  they  cast, 
Gleams  in  the  chambers  of  my  mind, 

And,  by  its  fitful  beam,  the  Past 

I  see  in  Memory's  cell  enshrined. 


46  THE    EARLIEST^  IDOL. 


The  heart's  first  love,  —  when  daylight  sets. 

And  evening  bringeth  memories  dear, 
Then  she,  whom  Passion  ne'er  forgets, 

Uncalled,  unbidden,  stealeth  near. 


She  gazeth  on  me,  her  brown  hair 
Is  parted  crosswise  on  her  brow, 

The  golden  halo  lingereth  there, 

Which  once  I  loved,  but  may  not  now. 


And  tearfully  her  gray  eyes  look 

Upon  me  as  in  days  of  yore,  — 

No  more,  no  more,  —  I  cannot  brook 
To  see  thee  thus  when  hope  is  o'er. 


Still,  let  me  fondly  summon  up 

Some  traces  of  that  tender  dream  ! 

Thus  do  I  pledge  it  in  the  cup, 

For  wine  must  quicken  Memory's  stream. 


We  met,  'twas  in  the  summer  time, 

The  blessed  time  of  birds  and  flowers, 

When  Love  at  birth  leaps  to  his  prime, 
Nor  lingers  through  his  infant  hours. 


THE    EARLIEST    IDOL.  47 

We  both  were  young  ;  Life's  cloudless  sky 
Was  bright  and  glorious,  in  its  hue 

We  saw  our  hopes  reflected  lie, 
Like  lilies  in  the  waters  blue. 


We  loved  ;  the  spirit's  hoarded  store 
Fell  from  the  heart  as  fast  as  rain ; 

Fond  heart !  how  dost  thou  now  deplore 

The  wealth  that  comes  not  back  again. 


With  every  word  that  died  in  air, 

There  rose  another  twice  as  kind ; 

With  every  sigh  that  trembled  there, 
Another  followed  close  behind. 


Then  parting  came,  its  hopes  and  fears, 

Its  oft  repeated,  sad  farewell, 
Vows  heart-coined,  struggling  up  through  tears, 

Came  with  it,  and  thus  broke  the  spell. 


One  niche  is  empty  in  my  heart, 

One  chord  forever  hushed  and  still 

I  often  enter  there,  apart, 

To  miss  the  note  that  once  could  thrill. 


PEMMAQUID  LIGHT. 


WINDETH  the  white  and  dusty  way, 

O'er  uplands  green,  by  low  roofed  homes, 

Through  forests  where,  in  sunniest  day, 
Nought  but  a  sleepy  darkness  comes. 


Behind  us  lies  the  busy  town, 

Beside  us  flows  the  broad  blue  stream, 
Before  us  fields,  asleep  and  brown, 

Of  many  a  future  harvest  dream. 


The  hamlet  and  its  noisy  mill, 

The  valley  and  the  sloping  lea 

Fly  past  us,  we  have  reached  the  hill, 
Its  top  is  gained,  and,  lo,  the  Sea  ! 


PEMMA^UID     LIGHT.  49 

But  not  without  a  struggle  yields 

Earth  to  her  foe  the  right  to  reign  ; 
See  where  her  hosts  still  bear  their  shields  ! 

See  where  the  Isles  defy  the  main ! 


Oh,  gallant  band  !   your  brows  are  worn, 
With  the  perpetual  strife  of  years, 

And  but  one  sound  is  from  ye  borne, 
Your  laugh  at  Ocean's  angry  tears. 


The  waves  are  down,  the  winds  have  ceased, 
The  surging  swells  from  foam  are  free, 

And  in  the  far  and  hazy  East, 
The  sky  is  melted  in  the  sea. 


And,  nearer  yet,  at  anchor,  ride, 

The  sturdy  plunderers  of  the  main, 

I  see  the  clear  and  glassy  tide 

Flash  back  each  rope,  each  mast  again. 


Within  this  rough  and  rocky  reach, 
The  little  waves  come  up  to  play, 

The  round,  worn  stones  that  line  the  beach, 
Are  hardly  sprinkled  with  their  spray. 
5 


50  PEMMAQUID    LIGHT. 

White  as  the  angel  wing  of  Hope, 

Firm  as  the  rock  from  which  it  springs, 

The  Light  House  crowns  the  rocky  slope, 
And  o'er  the  sea  its  far  glance  flings. 


Oh,  lone,  pale  watcher !  when  the  night 
Came  on  with  hissing  sleet  and  storm, 

How  hath  the  sailor  hailed  thy  light, 

How  hath  he  blessed  thine  unseen  form  ! 


What  hast  thou  seen,  what  hast  thou  heard, 

When  wintry  waves  have  talked  with  thee  r 

Had  not  the  winds  a  taunting  word  ? 
Were  there  no  voices  in  the  sea  ? 


It  may  be,  but  thou  answerest  not ; 

To  day,  with  thine  unwakened  eye, 
Thou  hast  in  that  stern  sleep  forgot 

The  smiles  or  frowns  of  sea  or  sky. 


Thus  thought  I  on  that  summer  day, 

When,  with  companions  warm  and  true, 

Upon  the  surf-beat  rocks  I  lay 

And  gazed  out  o'er  the  waters  blue. 


SONNET 

TO    A    SWEET    SINGER. 


STILL  in  my  ear  thy  liquid  voice  is  ringing, 

Thou  fair  Enchantress  of  the  realm  of  Song ! 
Still,  'mid  remembered  echoes  of  thy  singing, 

My  spirit  lingers  eagerly  and  long ; 
What  though  from  thy  sweet  lips  comes  now  no  sound, 

The  melody  they  uttered  thrilleth  on 
In  Memory's  halls,  as  perfume  clings  around 

The  spot  from  whence  the  flower  is  plucked  and  gone. 
Teach  us,  since  from  Remembrance  we  must  borrow 

Thy  gentle  face,  the  charm  that  in  it  slumbers, 
Leave  us  the  opiate  for  regret  and  sorrow 

That  lulled  us  listening  to  thy  blessed  numbers  ; 
So  that,  although  thy  feet  another  land  have  sought, 
Thou  wilt  not  carry  from  us  all  that  thou  hast  brought. 


GRANDMOTHER'S  BIRTHDAY. 

OUR  river  flows  with  wave  as  blue, 

With  tide  as  clear  as  on  that  day, 
When,  through  the  woods,  a  hardy  few, 

Beside  its  steep  banks  bent  their  way  ; 
No  change  in  its  bright  face  is  seen, 

The  dawning's  blush,  the  sunset's  flame, 
Trembles  each  morn,  and  glows  each  e'en 

Upon  a  mirror  still  the  same. 


You  saw  it  long,  long  years  ago, 

When  Youth  was  in  your  heart  and  eye, 
You  hailed  its  broad  and  placid  flow 

The  dark  pine  forest  sweeping  by  ; 
To  day  you  well  might  pause  and  think 

Of  what  has  been  and  ceased  to  be, 
Since  first  you  stood  upon  its  brink, 

And  watched  it  gliding  to  the  sea. 


53 


Long  years  ago,  —  the  silvered  hair, 

That  thinly  shades  your  temples  now, 
In  clustered  tresses,  thick  and  fair, 

Stole  o'er  your  then  unvvrinkled  brow  ; 
No  dimness  crept  o'er  eyes  as  bright 

As  those  that  'round  you  beam  to  day  ; 
For  you  had  never  known  the  night 

Which  flees  not  with  the  morning's  ray. 

Then,  where  your  humble  home  was  raised, 

The  cloud-swept  pines  were  at  your  door, 
And  when  at  night  your  hearth-fire  blazed, 

It  lit  a  wood  unlit  before. 
Each  sunny  noon-day's  breathless  calm, 

Each  solemn  hush  of  midnight's  hour, 
Hung  'round  you  like  a  viewless  arm 

Clothed  with  unutterable  power. 

The  Indian  urged  his  birch  canoe 

Upon  this  still  and  limpid  wave, 
His  rifle  flashed,  his  arrow  flew, 

Where  now,  perhaps,  may  be  his  grave  ; 
You  heard  his  warwhoop  ring  at  night, 

And,  trembling,  barred  the  stout  old  door, 
And  you  have  heard  his  footstep  light, 

Grate  on  your  cleanly  sanded  floor. 
5* 


54  GRANDMOTHER'S  BIRTHDAY. 

Within  the  old  and  pathless  wood, 

Unscarred  by  axe,  unscathed  by  fire, 
You  heard  the  bear  with  growling  rude, 

Answer  the  snarling  wild  cat's  ire  ; 
The  fox  came  fleetly  bounding  by 

Your  door,  and  sought  the  river's  brink, 
And,  fearless,  right  beneath  your  eye, 

The  antlered  deer  came  down  to  drink. 

You  lived  when  noble  deeds  were  done, 

That  brightly  shine  in  memory  still, 
When  rose  the  smoke  at  Lexington, 

When  roared  the  guns  on  Bunker's  Hill ; 
And,  after  many  a  bloody  fray, 

Your  heart  was  warmed,  your  eyes  were  wet, 
When,  on  our  land,  you  heard  them  say, 

The  seal  of  Liberty  was  set. 

No  longer  treads  the  red  man  here, 

No  longer  stand  the  forest  trees, 
Nor  need  you  now  to  start  and  fear, 

At  every  sound  borne  on  the  breeze  ; 
For,  'round  you,  every  where,  are  thrown 

The  works  that  man's  impression  bear, 
And  this  day's  sun  has  never  shone 

Upon  a  scene  more  sweet  and  fair. 


GRANDMOTHER'S  BIRTHDAY.  55 

Lo  !  yonder  is  the  church's  spire, 

And  there  the  factory  and  mill, 
And  many  a  hearth  with  blazing  fire, 

Is  near  your  own  this  season  chill ; 
Ere  long,  with  many  a  glowing  spark, 

With  roarings,  clashings,  dins  and  jars, 
Close  at  your  doorsill  we  may  mark 

The  rushing  locomotive  cars. 

Yes,  change  is  writ  on  every  thing, 

Around  your  feeble  steps  to  day, 
And  time  can  nothing  to  thee  bring 

Like  that  which  he  has  borne  away ; 
Youth,  with  its  bounding  pulse,  is  flown, 

Its  kindling  eye,  its  lithesome  form, 
And  where  its  sun  of  gladness  shone, 

Old  Age  has  come  with  night  and  storm. 

And  yet,  to  day,  have  gathered  near 

Your  side,  a  glad  and  smiling  band, 
Manhood,  with  sturdy  strength  is  here, 

Here  those  who  at  life's  portal  stand  ; 
Before  thy  feeble,  failing  sight, 

Hath  come  the  babe  but  newly  born, — 
Old  Age  and  Infancy,  —  the  night 

Flushed  with  the  radiance  of  the  morn  ! 


56 


Not  all  are  here,  the  breezes  bear 

Our  voices  o'er  the  ocean's  brine, 
And  call  the  wanderers  back  to  share 

The  smiles  that  'round  you  sweetly  shine  ; 
Not  all  are  here,  for  loving  hearts, 

Once  linked  with  yours,  are  still  to  day, 
Yet  memory,  like  an  angel,  starts 

From  mounds  where  rests  their  lifeless  clay. 

Your  children,  —  though  their  paths  are  wide, 

And  far  apart  on  life's  wild  sea, 
Yet  they,  to  day,  have  sought  your  side, 

The  scions  of  the  parent  tree  ; 
You,  gazing  on  their  forms  to  day, 

With  pride  that  nought  can  quench  or  mar, 
Might,  like  the  Roman  mother,  say, 

"  Behold,  these,  these  my  jewels  are  !" 


MARY. 


No  sweeter  name  is  ever  breathed 
Than  that  of  Mary,  soft  and  low 

It  falls  upon  the  ear,  enwreathed 

With  every  spell  that  love  can  know, 

With  memories  by  those  bequeathed 
That  bore  it  long  ago. 


It  lingers  'round  the  old  man  yet, 

Though  other  names  long,  long  have  fled  ; 
The  sun  of  earlier  days  has  set, 

Youth,  Love,  no  more  their  radiance  shed, 
Yet  that  dear  name  he'll  ne'er  forget 

It  calls  Her  from  the  dead. 


Thus,  when  the  moon  was  calm  and  bright, 

I  heard  a  faint  and  far  off  song, 
That,  stealing  softly  on  the  night, 


58  MARY. 

Woke  in  my  heart  a  passion  strong, 
Because  the  verse  with  cadence  light 
That  name  would  oft  prolong. 


1  listened,  and  with  that  sweet  word, 

A  thousand  thronging  memories  came, 

And  with  them,  she,  the  loved,  adored, 
In  starlike  beauty  all  the  same 

As  when,  before  her  shrine,  I  poured 
Love's  incense  on  its  flame. 


Long,  long  ago,  on  such  an  eve 
As  this,  I  told  my  hidden  love, 

And  strove  my  passion's  tale  to  weave 
In  burning  words  her  heart  to  move ; 

Those  vows  she  chid  not  to  receive, 
Are  registered  above. 


And  as  the  lute,  though  broken,  sighs 
Responsive  to  the  minstrel's  claim, 

And  yields  its  former  melodies 

With  fitful  note,  yet  still  the  same, 

So,  from  my  withered  heart,  arise 
Old  memories  at  that  name. 


THE  HUNTER. 


THE  Hunter's  hand  is  hard  and  tanned, 

His  frame  is  stout  of  mould, 
His  open  face  shuns  no  man's  gaze, 

His  heart  is  frank  and  bold  ; 
No  treachery  in  his  smile  is  found, 

No  falsehood  in  his  word  ; 
Erect  and  firm  he  treads  the  ground, 

And  calleth  no  one  lord. 


The  city's  life  with  tumult  rife, 

No  pleasure  seems  to  him, 
He  seeks  the  wood's  deep  solitude, 

Where  noontide  light  is  dim  ; 
The  forest  old  where  he  can  hear, 

For  miles  and  miles  around, 
The  sweetest  music  to  his  ear, 

The  baying  of  his  hound. 


60  THE    HUNTER. 

He  takes  his  gun  at  rise  of  sun, 

And  with  his  dog  he  goes, 
To  hunt  the  deer  that's  sheltering  here, 

In  ambush  thick  and  close ; 
With  active  limb  and  eager  step 

He  follows  on  the  track, 
Though  hills  be  steep  and  torrents  deep, 

No  peril  drives  him  back. 


And  fleet  and  free  the  fox  may  be, 

There's  one  upon  his  trail, 
With  tireless  frame  and  deadly  aim, 

That  ne'er  was  known  to  fail ; 
The  wild  duck  on  the  glassy  lake, 

The  pigeon  in  the  wood, 
The  partridge  in  the  leafy  brake, 

Must  yield  the  hunter  food. 


So  pass  away  the  Hunter's  days, 

Alone,  yet  what  recks  he, 
For  truer  friends  his  steps  attend, 

Than  man  could  ever  be ; 
His  dogs,  that  share  his  leafy  couch. 

That  list  his  lightest  word, 
That  patiently  beside  him  crouch, 

When  seated  at  his  board. 


THE    HUNTER. 

In  death  his  sleep  is  calm  and  deep, 

Where  forest  branches  wave, 
No  sculptured  stone  is  placed  upon 

His  greenly  growing  grave ; 
Yet  honest  hearts  shall  harm  it  not, 

But  keep  it  ever  dear, 
And  say,  whene'er  they  pass  the  spot, 

"  The  Hunter  resteth  here." 


VALVINUM. 


WINE  !   in  my  beaker  so  brightly  brimming, 

Forbear,  forbear  your  roseate  glow  ; 
Bubbles  of  foam  !   so  lightsomely  swimming, 

Cease,  cease  awhile  your  wanton  flow. 
When  ancient  comrades  and  friends  are  parting, 

No  smile  on  cither's  lip  should  play, 
And  so,  while  tears  to  my  eyes  are  starting, 

Thou  shouldst  not  wear  a  look  so  gay. 


Over  Life's  field  we've  journeyed  together, 

In  days  of  joy,  in  nights  of  pain, 
Though  stormy  or  fair  might  be  the  weather, 

Thy  smile  still  cheered  my  heart  and  brain. 
Each  sigh  awakened  by  grief  or  sadness, 

Sunk  in  thy  sympathetic  tide, 
And  always  thy  glowing  gleam  of  gladness, 

To  all  my  happy  hopes  replied. 


VALVINUM.  63 

Reflected  in  thee,  the  well  known  faces 

Of  boon  companions  smile  once  more, 
And  memory's  bark  its  way  retraces 

Across  thy  stream  to  Youth's  far  shore  ; 
Friends  of  the  wine  cup  !    how  rang  our  laughter, 

While  night's  pale  pilot  waxed  and  waned, 
What  magic  colors  our  far  Hereafter, 

Borrowed  from  every  drop  we  drained. 


Thou  never  hast  failed  me,  Wine  !    when  bidden 

To  waken  Life's  first  fond  romance, 
See,  softer  eyes  in  thy  depths  are  hidden, 

That  woo  me  with  their  tender  glance. 
Love's  wings  were  steeped,  in  that  cloudless  morning, 

In  dews  that  dwelt  upon  her  lip  ; 
But  when  affection  was  changed  to  scorning, 

lie  hastened  in  thy  wave  to  dip. 


Wafted  on  thy  tumultuous  pinion, 

Beyond  its  dark  and  lowering  sky, 
Oft  have  I  fled  from  that  bleak  dominion, 

Whose  shadows  on  the  spirit  lie  : 
With  light  of  hopes  that  had  fled  forever, 

Thou  bathedst  the  top  of  memory's  hill, 
As  sunset  long  in  the  West  will  quiver 

And  battle  with  the  darkness  still. 


64  VALVINUM. 

Let  this  not  be  an  idle  libation 

A  vulgar  draught,  oh  rarest  Wine  ! 
But,  rather,  some  sacred,  sad  oblation, 

Poured  out  on  Memory's  holy  shrine. 
And  may  thy  fragrance  in  air  ascending, 

Be  fraught  with  Lethe  for  the  Past, 
Now  art  thou,  Wine  !    with  my  spirit  blending, 

In  kiss  the  sweetest  and  the  last. 


SHE  SLEEPS. 


The  old  tree  shadoweth  the  grave 

Of  her  that  was  so  good  and  fair, 

And  mournfully  its  branches  wave 
Sad  requiems  in  the  evening  air, 

And  dewdrops  closing  flowerets  lave, 
That  sweetest  fragrance  bear. 


Beneath  the  welcome  sky  of  night. 

My  frequent  footsteps  linger  here  ; 
For  sunbeams  shed  a  garish  light, 

That  seems  to  mock  at  sorrow's  tear, 
And  I  would  shun  the  hour  that  might 

Make  memorv  less  dear. 


But  now  Remembrance  pours  its  tide 

Upon  my  spirit's  eager  shore, 
And  thoughts  that  are  to  thee  allied, 
6* 


66  SHE    SLEEPS. 

Come  back  and  visit  me  once  more, 
And  I,  forgetting  aught  beside, 
Recall  them  o'er  and  o'er. 


When  last  I  saw  thee,  not  the  flush 

Of  Life  or  Love  was  on  thy  brow, 

Nor  on  thy  cheek  one  lingering  blush 

Could  whisper  "  She  but  sleepeth  now, 

Ah  no,  a  fearful,  chilly  hush 
Was  on  thy  pulses'  flow. 


Yet  on  that  brow  a  light  curl  played, 

A  sweet  smile  seemed  to  check  all  fear. 

Oh,  there  were  countless  traits  that  made 
The  dearly  loved,  too  loved,  too  dear; 

But  Love,  regret  were  vain,  they  laid 
Thy  form  in  silence  here. 


The  offerings  that  the  night  hath  given 

To  deck  thy  grave,  seem  sweet  to  me, 

Young  flowers  that,  half  blown,  die  at  even, 
The  shadows  of  this  guardian  tree, 

And  brightest  dewdrops  sent  from  Heaven 
To  be  exhaled  o'er  thee. 


FAIRY  LAND. 


LOVE,  those  were  wondrous  days  of  old, 

When  fairies  revelled  on  the  earth, 
Now  dancing  in  the  moonbeams  cold, 

Now  hovering  o'er  the  cottage  hearth  : 
Now  cradled  in  the  perfumed  beds, 

To  which  moss  roses  oft  would  woo  them, 
Now,  where  the  tall  pines  nod  their  heads, 

Floating,  like  strains  of  music,  through  them. 


Deep,  deep  within  the  forest  dells, 

Where  foot  of  man  had  never  trod, 
Where  old  oaks  stood  like  sentinels 

Around  the  smoothly  shaven  sod, 
Their  merry  bands  would  meet  and  sport, 

Throughout  the  livelong  summer  day, 
And  there  would  Oberon  hold  his  court, 

Surrounded  by  each  sprite  and  fay. 


FAIRY    LAND. 

Beneath  their  feet  would  fountains  spring, 

That  cast  above  them  silver  showers, 
Wherein  they  laved  each  weary  wing, 

As  delicate  as  leaves  of  flowers ; 
The  trees  that  bourgeoned  at  their  side, 

Were  hung  all  o'er  with  rarest  fruit  ; 
The  breeze  that  wantoned  wild  and  wide 

Made  music  like  the  softest  lute. 


Above  this  strange  sweet  place,  the  sky 

Hung  tinged  with  glorious,  golden  hues, 
Or,  if  a  storm-cloud  floated  by, 

It  melted  into  fragrant  dews. 
Oh,  for  one  glance  at  this  bright  spot  ! 

One  moment  on  its  soil  to  stand  ! 
But  mortal  eyes  might  view  it  not, 

Nor  mortal  tread  on  Fairy  Land. 


They  all  have  fled,  those  gentle  sprites, 

Within  those  haunted  dells  no  more 
Titania  with  her  train  alights, 

The  fairy  revels  all  are  o'er. 
But  there  are  spots  my  feet  have  pressed, 

When  summer  suns  were  sinking  low, 
That  seemed  to  me  so  calm,  so  blest, 

That  fairies  well  the  haunt  might  know. 


FAIRY    LAND.  69 

Sit  closer  to  me,  sweet,  the  blush 

Is  mantling  rarely  in  thy  cheek, 
I  know  full  well  that  gentle  flush 

Betokens  what  thou  rmy'st  not  speak  ; 
For  memory  summons  to  thy  brain 

The  eve,  when,  with  a  happy  band, 
We  crossed  the  fields  and  reached  the  plain 

That  thy  dear  lips  named  "  Fairy  Land.1' 


Through  slumberous  woods  the  pathway  steals, 

That  leadeth  to  this  quiet  scene, 
And  suddenly  its  close  reveals 

The  hidden  landscape  smooth,  serene. 
On  either  side  a  gentle  hill 

To  meet  the  plain  comes  greenly  dowo, 
And  there,  embosomed,  hushed  and  still, 

It  lies,  —  a  gem  in  nature's  crown  ! 


Upon  that  eve  the  burning  thought, 

That  in  my  bosom  long  had  lain, 
Rose  up,  and  for  expression  sought, 

And  yet  I  hushed  it  down  again  : 
For  thou  wert  coy  and  shunned  my  side, — 

Dearest !  thou  wilt  not  shun  it  now, 
And  Love,  o'ermastered,  quelled  by  Pride, 

In  vain  had  flushed  my  cheek  and  brow. 


70  FAIRY    LAND. 

We  left  that  lovely  spot,  my  heart 

Throbbed  high  with  Passion  mixed  with  Fear, 
And,  oh,  I  felt  the  teardrop  start, 

To  think  that  thou  wert  still  so  dear ; 
Yet  ere  the  moon  began  to  wane, 

That  shone  that  evening  in  the  grove, 
I  looked  into  thine  eyes  again, 

And  in  those  eyes  read  nought  but  love. 

Thou  lovest  me,  my  heart  has  found 

The  rest  that  it  hath  sought  so  long, 
Through  grief  and  pain  its  pathway  wound, 

To  happiness  untold  in  song ; 
And  with  thy  dear  form  close  to  me, 

Thus  clasped  in  mine  thy  timid  hand, 
Oh,  loved  one  !  canst  thou  doubt  that  we 

Have  found  the  spirit's  Fairy  Land  ? 


Above  us,  spreads  the  sky  of  Hope, 

Beneath  us,  flow'rets  wave  and  move, 
Sweet  flowers,  whose  dewy  petals  ope 

To  catch  the  welcome  breath  of  Love  ; 
Our  footsteps  tread  on  magic  ground, 

Our  brows  by  fragrant  winds  are  fanned, 
Yes,  yes,  at  last  our  hearts  have  found 

The  soil,  the  breeze  of  Fairy  Land  ! 


LOVE'S  ANSWER. 


THOU  askest  why  I  love  thee,  and  in  truth  I  cannot  say, 
Canst  thou  tell  me  why  the  sky-lark  loves  the  morning's 

golden  ray, 

Why  the  deer  the  greenwood  loveth,  or  the  violet  the  dew, 
Or  why  in  stormiest  ocean  gladly  dips  the  wild  sea-mew, 
Why  the  sternest  spirit  yield eth  to  soft  music's  spell  and 

power, 
Or  why  Love's  words  seem  sweetest  at  the  twilight's  holy 

hour  ? 

Thy  gentle  lips  are  silent,  we  feel  but  cannot  tell, 
And,  darling,  so  I  know  not  why  I  worship  thee  so  well, 

It  is  not  that  thine  'eyes  are  soft,  nor  that  thy  cheek  is  fair, 
Nor  is  it  that  a  thousand  Loves  lie  tangled  in  thy  hair, 
Nor  that  thy  voice  is  sweet  and  low,  nor  that  thy  dewy  lips 
Are  argosies  of  passion,  freighted  rich  as  Indian  ships ; 


72 


Have  I  not  gazed  on  eyes  as  bright,  or  forms  as  fair  as 

thine, 
Must  I  trace  Love's  birth  to  Beauty  ere  I  own  his  royal 

line, 
Must  the  heart  be  caught  by  glances  shot  from  fringed  and 

lustrous  eyes, 
Must  the  loveliest  face  in  Woman,  be  the  spirit's  dearest 

prize  ? 

I  had  been  out  at  sunset  and  Day's  dying  splendor  stole, 

Like  a  strain  of  sweetest  music  o'er  my  rapt  and  ravished 
soul  ; 

The  stars  went  to  their  places  and  their  meek  and  saintly 
ray 

Falling  through  the  depths  of  ether,  on  the  waters,  slum- 
bering, lay  ; 

At  that  hour  the  strife  and  struggle  of  my  worldly  life  was 
stilled, 

And  my  spirit  spurned  the  chalice  that  its  heartless  mem- 
ories filled ; 

Then  in  the  sky  of  Passion  rose  a  loving,  watching  star, 

Its  radiance  fell  upon  me,  and  I  blessed  it  from  afar. 


I  saw  thee,  and  I  loved  thee,  and  I  cannot  tell  thee  more, 
Though  thy  lips,  with  sweet  perverseness,  should  ask  me 
o'er  and  o'er ; 


•  LOVE'S  ANSWER.  73 

The  heart  hath  many  secrets  that  the  mind  may  never 
reach, 

And  the  mysteries  of  Passion  may  not  all  be  clothed  in 
speech ; 

When  the  goblet  brimmeth  over  with  some  rare  and  an- 
cient wine, 

Should  we  spill  it  if  we  knew  not  whose  hand  had  reared 
the  vine  ? 

So  if  my  love  is  precious,  as  thine,  Sweet,  is  to  me, 

Take  it  all,  nor  ever  ask  me  why  I  offer  it  to  thee. 


LOST  ALICE. 


ALICE,  the  veil  is  lifting, 

From  the  passion  haunted  Past ; 
Its  forms,  like  snow-flakes  drifting, 

Gather  around  me  fast ; 
Though  fair  and  heart-enthralling, 

Some  of  the  throng  may  be, 
Yet  I  am  seeking,  calling, 

Lost  Alice  !    only  thee. 


Alice,  thou  matchless  maiden, 

I  loved  thee  in  Life's  spring, 
Ere  Hope,  with  grief  o'er-laden, 

Fluttered  in  flight  her  wing  ; 
Ere  Sorrow  in  Love's  chalice, 

Or  Falsehood,  found  a  place, 
Ere  Coldness,  Scorn  or  Malice, 

Lost  Alice  !  left  a  trace. 


LOST    ALICE.  75 


Alice,  'twas  golden  summer, 

When,  in  my  open  breast, 
Young  Love,  the  sweet  new-coiner, 

Sought  smilingly  a  rest. 
Then  I  spoke  in  accents  burning, 

And  in  broken  tones:  to  thee, 
And  thy  lips,  my  vows  returning, 

Lost  Alice  !  answered  me. 


Alice,  like  dews  of  morning, 

Upon  the  thirsty  flower, 
Came  thy  kisses  without  warning, 

In  that  unforgotten  hour; 
And  thy  long  and  silken  tresses 

Seem  to  mingle  even  now, 
With  mine  in  soft  caresses, 

Lost  Alice  !  o'er  my  brow. 


Alice,  thy  lips  pressed  nearly, 

Yet  their  kisses  long  have  fled, 
In  thy  heart  that  loved  so  dearly, 

I  know  that  love  is  dead ; 
In  thine  eye  there  is  a  coldness, 

And  its  sternness  and  its  chill, 
Rebuke  my  spirit's  boldness, 

Lost  Alice  !   loving  still. 


76  LOST    ALICE. 

Alice,  the  pallid  ashes, 

Alone  are  left  of  love, 
And  the  tide  of  Lethe  washes, 

Its  memory  above ; 
And  I  no  more  may  render, 

At  thy  once  familiar  shrine, 
A  worship  now  too  tender, 

Lost  Alice  !  to  be  thine. 


Alice,  though  thy  derision, 

I  never  can  forget, 
The  light  of  Youth's  sweet  vision, 

Glows  in  remembrance  yet ; 
And  dark  and  very  lonely, 

Life's  weary  path  may  be, 
It  is  brighter  if  I  only, 

Lost  Alice  !  think  of  thee. 


THE  ITALIAN  ORGAN  PLAYER'S  VESPERS', 


IT  is  sunset,  bow  the  crimson  flush  is  creeping  up  the  skyT 
It  is  sunset,  and  my  heart  is  sad  although  I  know  not  why, 
The  freshening  gale  that  cools  my  brow,  a  murmur  hath, 

like  prayer, 

A  holy  calm,  a  saintly  spell,  its  wings,  like  incense,  bear  ; 
Though  in  the  church's  turret  high,  no  evening  bell  is 

swinging, 

Yet  in  my  heart  with  liquid  chime  the  Angelus  is  ringing ; 
In  many  a  land,  at  many  a  shrine,  True  Faith  now  bends, 

the  knee, 
Oh  listen,  Blessed  Virgin  !  to  my  vesper  prayer  to  thee. 


Oli,  holy,  stainless  Mother  !  throughout  the  weary  day, 
Thy  gentle  love  and  tender  care  have  been  about  my  way, 
My  faltering  feet  have  found  no  snares  upon  Life's  toilsome 
road, 

7* 


78  THE    ITALIAN    ORGAN    PLAYER'S    VESPERS. 

And  on  my  lip,  from  Life's  full   cup   no  bitter   drop   hath 

flowed  ; 
Now,  while  the   shades  of  evening   deepen  on  my  heavy 

eye, 

Be  thou,  oh  dearest  Mother  !  still  loving,  fond*and  nigh  ; 
Watch  o'er  me  in  the  darkness,  bid  each  evil  spirit  flee, 
Oh  listen,  Blessed  Virgin !  to  my  vesper  prayer  to  thee. 


Beyond  the  dim  horizon,  'neath  another  sky  than  this, 

I  have  felt  a  father's  manly  care,  a  mother's  sacred  kiss, 

And  to-night,  though  their  fond  faces  lit  with  love  I  can- 
not see, 

Still  I  know  their  hearts  are  throbbing  with  a  fervent  prayer 
for  me  ; 

Saintly  Mother!  Holy  Mary!  watch  them  kindly  from 
above, 

Smooth  their  pillow,  send  sweet  slumbers,  fill  their  visions 
with  thy  love, 

Guard  their  dear  ones  'round  the  hearth-stone,  bring  their 
wanderer  o'er  the  sea, 

Oh  listen,  Blessed  Virgin  !  to  my  vesper  prayer  to  thee. 


Smile  on  the  hearts  that  love  me,  if  one  pure  and  stainless 

breast, 
Keeps  to  night  my  image  treasured,  breathes  my  name  at 

hour  of  rest, 


Oh,  guard  that  heart  from  sorrow,  throw  thine  arm  of  love 

and  power, 

About  it  in  the  darkness  of  temptation's  fearful  hour ; 
Saintly   Mother !    Holy  Mary  !  I  have  wandered  far  and 

wide 
From  the  path  where   thou  would'st  lead   me,  draw  me 

closer  to  thy  side, 

Look  in  pity  on  my  errors,  set  me  from  sin's  thraldom  free, 
Oh  listen,  Blessed  Virgin  !  to  my  vesper  prayer  to  thee. 


POOR  ROVER. 


WE  weep  when  friends  or  kindred  die, 

And  no  one  mocks  the  falling  tear, 
It  soothes  the  bitter  agony 

We  feel  beside  the  loved  one's  bier ; 
And,  gazing  on  thy  lifeless  form, 

I  do  not  hide  my  tears  or  woe  ; 
Thine  was  a  love  as  true  and  warm, 

As  even  woman's  heart  could  know. 


For  friends  might  leave  thy  master's  side, 

And  kinsmen's  love  grow  faint  and  dim, 
Thy  friendship  was  too  staunch  and  tried, 

For  aught  to  sever  thee  from  him  ; 
Thine  honest  love,  thy  noble  worth, 

Were  in  such  boundless  measure  given, 
That  far,  far  more  than  some  on  Earth, 

A  soul  like  thine  would  merit  Heaven. 


ADIEU. 
. 

FAREWELL,  the  tie  that  bound  my  heart 

So  close  to  thine,  thyself  hath  broken, 
The  looks  or  words  that  bid  us  part, 

Thine  eyes  have  cast,  thy  lips  have  spoken  ; 
Let  others  guard  and  watch  the  flame 

Of  Love,  that  burns  but  dim  and  faintly, 
And  cloak  indifference  with  the  name 

Of  Passion  that  is  pure  and  saintly, 
I  am  not  read  in  Plato's  lore, 
I  love  not  when  thy  love  is  o'er. 


The  Parsee  bows  before  the  sun, 

When  clear  and  bright  his  God  is  burning, 
But,  hidden  by  eve's  mantle  dun, 

No  more  his  eyes  are  thither  turning ; 


82  ADIEU. 

And  thus  I  worshipped  while  the  light 

Of  thy  warm  love  was  flung  around  me, 

But  when  it  deepened  into  night, 

The  spell  it  owned  no  longer  bound  me, 

My  heart  may  yet  love-lighted  shine, 

But  'twill  not  catch  its  flame  from  thine. 


Thou  shouldst  not  hate  me,  for  the  blame 

Lies  not  with  me  if  thus  we  sever, 
And  there  will  linger  'round  thy  name, 

Kind  thoughts  and  pleasant  memories  ever. 
The  tale  is  short,  as  well  as  old, 

Love's  tale  in  every  clime  and  season, 
We  wildly  loved  till  one  grew  cold, 

And  then  the  other  woke  to  reason, 
Her  calmer  magic  broke  the  spell, 
But  not  his  heart,  —  once  more,  Farewell. 


COLLEGE  FRIENDS. 


WHEN  Day's  last  glances  feebly  fall  aslant  me, 

When  gathereth  the  twilight's  tender  gloom, 
Dear  old  companions !  then  your  faces  haunt  me, 

Then  do  your  memories  pervade  the  room  : 
I  seem  borne  back  on  swift  and  shadowy  pinion, 

Into  the  regions  of  the  golden  Past, 
I  feel  once  more  the  rapturous  dominion 

Of  Youth  and  Passion  o'er  my  spirit  cast. 


We  were  a  band  as  joyous  and  true  hearted, 

As  ever  sailed  upon  Life's  summer  sea ; 
We  knew  no  griefs  for  gorgeous  hopes  departed, 

We  shed  no  tears  o'er  some  sad  memory. 
The  world,  a  fairy  land,  was  all  before  us, 

Arrayed  in  hues  like  those  of  sunset  skies, 
The  unquenched  stars  of  Passion  trembled  o'er  us, 

Luring  and  lovely  to  our  tearless  eyes. 


84  COLLEGE    FRIENDS. 

Then  were  our  restless  hearts  forever  yearning, 

To  pierce  the  veil  that  o'er  the  Future  hung, 
Then,  clothed  in  words  most  passionate  and  burning, 

Our  glowing  day-dreams  trembled  on  each  tongue, 
Of  Fame,  whose  topmost  heights  should  be  ascended, 

Of  lavish  Wealth,  of  Power,  and  place  of  Pride, 
And  with  these  visions  there  was  ever  blended, 

The  Angel  of  Existence  at  our  side. 


Oh,  sunny  dreams,  how  have  your  glories  faded, 

Oh,  youthful  hearts,  false  prophets  that  ye  were, 
To  some  the  Future  yet  with  clouds  is  shaded, 

To  some  the  Past  is  but  Hope's  sepulchre, 
And  like  the  banners,  purple-decked  and  trailing, 

Which  Sunset  flaunts  before  Day's  closing  eye, 
Some  sadly  saw  Love,  Wrealth,  Ambition,  paling, 

As  Sorrow's  night  crept  darkly  down  Life's  sky. 


Is  there  no  rest  for  hearts  worn  out  and  broken  ? 

No  subtle  anodyne  to  soothe  their  pain  ? 
Those  gentle  accents,  by  the  Savior  spoken, 

"  My  peace  I  give  you,"  were  they  breathed  in  vain  ? 
No,  not  in  vain,  the  sighs  wrung  out  by  Sorrow, 

Are  calmed  by  thoughts  of  Childhood's  sinless  years, 
From  that  sweet  source  the  saddest  heart  can  borrow 

Relief  from  anguish,  and  a  balm  for  tears. 


LOVE'S  DAWN. 


ONE  thought  is  in  my  heart  to-night, 

Upon  my  lip  one  word  of  flame, 
The  memory  of  thine  eyes'  soft  light, 

Thy  dear.and  haunting  name  ; 
That  glance  I've  striven  to  forget, 

And  from  that  name  my  soul  to  free, 
Still  in  my  heart  are  firmly  set 

Remembrances  of  thee. 


There  was  no  light  in  liquid  eyes, 

Till  thine  had  turned  on  me  their  gaze, 
There  was  no  Star  in  Passion's  skies, 

Till  thine  lit  up  its  rays ; 
Oh,  gentle  eyes  of  tearful  blue ! 

To-night  you  seem  to  watch  o'er  me, 
Oh,  star !  whose  soft  light  thrills  me  through, 

I  know  no  guide  but  thee. 
8 


86 


I  cannot  hush  my  throbbing  heart, 

I  cannot  bid  its  waves  be  still, 
Thou  only  hast  the  magic  art 

To  bend  it  to  thy  will ; 
Smile,  it  will  cease  its  burning  pain, 

Speak,  each  word  shall  an  angel  be, 
Frown,  it  will  not  have  loved  in  vain, 

For  it  shall  break  for  thee. 


AN  ORISON  OF  ABELARD. 


THOUGH  thou  in  saintly  mansions  art, 
With  trustfulness  I  bow  my  knee, 

And  offer  from  my  earnest  heart 
An  orison  to  thee, 

Theresa. 

Not  for  myself  the  sacrifice, 

Of  worship  and  of  tearful  prayer, 
Not  for  myself  the  words  arise, 

Which  ask  thy  holy  care, 

Theresa. 

I  pray  for  her  who  prays  to  thee, 

For  her,  the  best  beloved  of  Earth, 

I  pray  for  her  whose  love  for  me 
Thou  guardest  since  its  birth, 

Theresa. 


88  AN    ORISON    OF    ABELARD. 

Forsake  her  not  in  Life's  rude  path, 
Close  at  her  side  in  peril  be, 

Let  Trouble's  storm  and  Sorrow's  wrath 
Break,  not  on  her,  but  me. 

Theresa. 


By  day  let  no  sad  hour  eclipse 

The  sunlight  of  her  waking  bliss, 

And  press  by  night  upon  her  lips, 
Thy  pure  and  angel  kiss, 

Theresa. 


Thy  name  is  breathed  by  many  a  tongue, 
Thy  praise  by  many  a  worshipper, 

No  prayer  from  deeper  love  is  wrung, 
Than  this  to  thee  for  her, 

Theresa. 


IN  ABSENCE. 


AFAR  from  thee  my  spirit  yearns 

To  lay  its  offering  at  thy  feet, 
The  flame  that  on  its  altar  burns, 

Would  yield  an  incense  doubly  sweet 
Wert  thou  but  near  with  smiles  to  greet 

Thy  votary,  who  alone,  apart, 
Would  make  the  offering  more  complete, 

With  tears  and  with  a  broken  heart. 
Alas,  nor  smile  nor  glance  of  thine, 
Upon  my  sad  oblation  shine. 


Thy  face  with  sad  and  mournful  gaze, 

Comes  floating  dimly  through  my  dreams, 

And  when  I  sing  our  once  loved  lays, 

Thy  voice  to  blend  its  sweetness  seems ; 


90  IN    ABSENCE. 

My  fancy  every  trait  redeems 

Of  thine  that  made  thee  once  so  dear, 
But  saddened  by  these  transient  gleams, 

I  murmur  still,  "  Thou  art  not  here."" 
Although,  more  blest  than  I  can  be, 
My  heart  forever  dwells  with  thee, 


BOTHWELL. 


ON  the  ground  the  wounded  trooper, 
Lay  with  dinted,  bloody  crest, 

And  the  Covenanter  fiercely 

Set  his  sword  upon  his  breast. 


"  Die,  believing  nought,  nor  hoping !" 
Burley  through  his  set  teeth  cried, 

Bothwell,  with  a  look  defiant, 

Gasping,  "  Fearing  nothing  !"  died. 


His  had  been  a  life  of  battle, 
Not  alone  in  martial  strife, 

But  where  Sin  with  serried  squadron, 
Fights  upon  the  field  of  Life. 


92  BOTHWELL. 

Scars  were  on  his  stiffening  body, 

Got  where  soldiers  win  their  fame, 

Scars  had  been  upon  his  spirit, 

From  the  blows  of  Vice  and  Shame. 


One,  who  knew  the  dauntless  trooper, 
Sought  him  where  in  fight  he  fell, 

And  upon  his  pulseless  bosom, 

Found  a  treasure  guarded  well. 


Letters,  writ  when  Life  was  early, 
Letters,  by  the  loved  one  traced, 

Stained  and  worn  and  blurred  the  paper, 
With  the  writing  half  effaced. 


But  upon  them  this  inscription, 
Told  he  never  needed  art 

To  preserve  them,  "  'Tis  no  matter, 
For  I  have  them  all  by  heart." 


All  by  heart,  those  loving  phrases, 
All  by  heart,  each  tender  word, 

Though  her  hand  was  cold  that  traced  them, 
And  her  pulse  no  longer  stirred. 


BOTHWELL.  93 


On  his  breast  those  outward  tokens 
Of  that  sinless  love  had  lain ; 

On  his  soul  its  pure  remembrance 
Slept,  nor  knew  a  spot  or  stain. 


Who  shall  know  how  oft  that  angel, 
Pleaded  with  his  stubborn  heart  ? 

What  resolves  to  deeds  of  goodness 
At  her  gentle  words  would  start  ? 


Through  his  wild,  fierce  life  that  Passion 
Went  with  him  'mid  every  scene  ; 

Light !  upon  the  storm-cloud's  edges  ! 
In  the  waste,  the  spot  of  green  ! 


Bothwell !  who  shall  say  that  mercy 
Was  not  granted  thee  above  ? 

Since,  on  Earth,  thy  ruthless  spirit, 
Was  so  merciful  to  Love ! 


VALENTINE. 


I  MET  thee  once,  and  'round  my  heart, 

The  light  thy  beauty  left  still  plays, 
Still  through  the  mists  of  memory  start, 

The  feelings  wakened  by  that  gaze ; 
The  seal  that  Passion  once  has  set 

Upon  the  heart  will  leave  it  never, 
And  Time  in  vain  may  say  "  Forget," 

To  one  that  must  remember  ever. 


We  met  within  the  house  of  prayer, 

Where  hopes  and  thoughts  should  heavenward  be, 
I  could  not  in  the  worship  share, 

I  found  my  hope  and  Heaven  in  thee  : 
Within  thine  eye  a  light  was  dwelling 

That  seemed  too  pure  for  Life  or  Earth  ; 


VALENTINE.  95 

Within  my  heart  a  hope  was  swelling, 
That  of  that  holy  glance  had  birth. 

Our  paths  may  never  meet  again,  — 

The  light  that  over  mine  was  thrown 
By  thy  sweet  face,  must  flash  in  vain 

In  Memory's  halls,  for  thou  art  gone  ; 
Thou  mayst  not  guess  the  hand  that  flings 

This  idle  garland  on  thy  shrine, 
But  do  not  scorn  the  heart  that  brings 

Its  worship,  Gentle  Valentine. 


LEAVES  AND  HEARTS. 


Sighing  through  the  tasselled  pine, 
Autumn  winds  are  sadly  stealing, 

And,  as  dipped  in  blood-red  wine, 

Leaves  are  crimson  tints  revealing, 

Wearing  many  a  hue  divine, 

But  at  heart  the  cold  frost  feeling. 


So,  when  all  the  spirit's  chords, 
By  sad  memories  are  shaken, 

Light  and  gay  may  be  our  words, 

Bright  beams  in  our  eyes  may  waken, 

But  the  withered  heart  records, 

"  Life  and  Hope  have  thee  forsaken." 


A  SONG. 


THE  sparkle  on  the  wine-cup's  brim, 

The  flash  upon  the  wave, 
Are  bright  a  moment,  then  grows  dim 

The  glitter  that  they  gave ; 
And  thus  the  light  of  woman's  eye, 

The  magic  of  her  smile, 
May  win  a  heart's  idolatry, 

And,  winning,  but  beguile. 


The  melody  the  sea-nymph  sings, 
Falls  softly  on  the  ear, 

Brave  mariner !  beware,  it  brings 

Death,  if  thou  sailest  near. 
9 


A    SONG. 


And  thus  the  words  of  woman's  tongue, 
•^  A  charm,  like  music,  weave, 

But,  fatal  as  that  wooing  song, 
The  trusting  they  deceive. 


When  woman's  eyes  are  bright,  beware  ! 

They  hide  most  danger  then  ; 
When  sighs  or  smiles  your  heart  might  snare, 

List  not,  nor  gaze  again  ; 
So  shall  you  keep  your  bosom's  rest, 

Unmoved  by  beauty's  spell, 
So  shall  you  shun  the  danger  best, 

Of  loving  and  too  well. 


THE  CREMATION. 


TO-NIGHT  my  eyes,  tear-laden,  have   wandered   sadly  o'er 
The  lines  that  told  a  passion,  sleeping  now  to  wake   no 
more. 


From  each  mute  and  voiceless  syllable  are  dreary  memo- 
ries born, 

That,  with  fingers  dim  and  spectral,  point  to  days  forever 
gone. 

"Forever,"  oh,  "  Forever,"  'twas  the   word  you  breathed 

to  me, 
When  your  girlish  faith  you  plighted,  with  the  stars  alone 

to  see. 


100  THE    CREMATION. 


False  scroll !  and  falser  passion  !  how  it  haunts  me,  lying 
there, 

Read  into  my  deepest  memory,  treasured  up  to  mock  de- 
spair. 

Tears  of  joy  have  fallen  on  it,  and  again  and  yet  again, 
Have  my  lips  sought  out  the  places   where  your   fingers 
might  have  lain. 

Foolish  tears !  ye  were  but  wasted,  idle  was   the  clinging 

kiss, 
Of  the  love  that  blazed  so  brightly  there  is  nothing  left  but 

this. 

Ere  this  too  be  cold  in  ashes,  let  the  voices  of  the  Past, 
Speak  once  more  unto  thy  spirit,  speak  for  this  time  and 
the  last. 


We  were  young  in  Life,  no  shadows  fell  upon  our  light- 
some way, 

There  was  then  no  night  of  sorrow  that  would  never  break 
in  Day. 

No  passion,  heart-inwoven,  no  memory  so  deep 
That  the  wave  of  Lethe  only  could  lull  it  into  sleep. 


THE    CREMATION. 

Then  I  lingered  in  the  sunlight  of  thy  deep  and  pleading 

eyes, 
Then   I  felt  from  out  the  fountains  of  my  heart  a  love 

arise. 


Not   ungentle   was   thine    accent,  not   of   anger   was  thy 

blush, 
When  the  words,  "I  love  you,"  came  to  break  the  twilight's 

holy  hush. 


But  the  lip  on  mine  that  quivered,  and  the  crimson  on  thy 

brow, 
Seemed  to  say  with  chiding  fondness,  "  Canst  thou  doubt  I 

love  thee  now  ?" 


Doubt  thee !  if  from  out  the  silence  of  the  sky  a  voice  had 

rung, 
Saying  "  Doubt  her,"  all  the  closer  to  thy  heart  I  would - 

have  clung. 


Then  the  distant  gleaming   glory  of  the  stars  appeared  to 

lie 
Reflected  in  the  lustre  of  thy  timid,  upturned  eye. 


102  THE    CREMATION. 

Then  I  seemed  to  hear  Life's  volume  closed  with  soft  and 

muffled  sound, 
And  a  whisper  saying,  "  Read  no  more,thou  hast  the  secret 

found." 


But  to-night  the    stars  have  lighted   their  mournful  fires 

again, 
And  to-night  my  heart  is  saying,  "  Did  she  love  thee  even 

then  ? 


u  Didst  thou  think  in  that  sweet  moment  when  her  kisses 
lightly  fell, 

That  to-night  the  only  accent  on  thy  lips  would  be,  Fare- 
well ?" 


Yet  it  must  be,  —  through   the   midnight  with  a  dreary, 

hopeless  tone, 
The  wind  that  word  repeateth,  and  repeateth  that  alone. 

I  must  sift   thee   from  my  spirit,  I  must  sever  thee  from 

thought, 
In  the    net  of   my  remembrance  must  thy  image  ne'er 

be  caught. 


THE    CREMATION.  103 

There  were  hopes  my  heart  had  guarded,  let  them  perish 

in  their  prime, 
Let  no  answer  to  their  longings  come  from  out  the  Future 

Time. 


There  were  springs  that  blessed  life's  journey,  let  me  nev- 
er of  them  taste, 

There  were  green  spots  where  we  rested,  let  them  be  a 
barren  waste. 


It  was  summer  when  I  met  thee,  and  with  hues  as  bright 

and  gay, 
As  the  summer's  wooing  blossoms,  dawned  Love's  twilight 

into  Day. 


It  was  autumn  when  we  parted,  when  the  flowers  no  more 

were  fair, 
When  the  maple  tossed  his  bloody  arms  upon  the  frosty 

air. 


So  the  Autumn  of  the  spirit  came  with  sudden  step  on 

me, 
And  with  hues,  at  death  the  brightest,  fell  the  leaves  from 

Passion's  tree. 


104  THE    CREMATION. 

Wherefore   do  I  speak  of  Passion  ?  he^re  are  words  that 

claim  to  rise, 
From  its  hotliest  blazing  altar,  from  its  purest  sacrifice. 


Did   they  spring   from   young  affection,  did  they  Truth's 

impression  bear  ? 
No !  the   Falsehood    looks  from  out  them  with  a  leaden, 

mocking  stare. 


Brighter  blaze,  ye  flames  that  flicker!  fiercer  yet,  ye  em- 
bers !  glow, 
While  amid  your  red  embraces  this  faithless  scroll  I  throw. 


All  is  dark:  —  amid  the  forest  of  the  pines  with  sullen  roar, 
The  midnight  wind  is  saying,  "  No  more,  oh,  never  more !" 


THE  ROSARY. 


THEY  sat  together  in  the  wood, 
The  maiden  and  the  boy  ; 

And  through  the  shade  the  sunlight  fell, 
Like  sorrow  crossed  with  joy, 

So  in  their  hearts  Love's  virgin  ore 
Was  mixed  with  Grief  V  alloy. 


"And  take,"  she  said,  "  this  cross  and  chain, 
And  wear  them  on  thy  breast, 

I've  counted  oft  each  bead  and  link, 
To  lull  me  to  my  rest, 

And  many  a  time  this  little  cross 
Hath  to  my  lips  been  pressed. 


Thou  goest  from  me,  —  I  no  more 
Shall  watch  about  thy  way, 


106 


THE    ROSARY. 


I  shall  not  see  thy  form  at  eve, 
Or  hear  thy  voice  by  day ; 

All  that  my  weakness  leaves  to  me, 
Is,  for  thy  sake  to  pray. 


"  If  Evil  lure  thee  from  the  right, 
If  Conscience  chide  in  vain, 

Ah,  like  an  iron  link  to  Truth, 

Heaven  make  this  fragile  chain, 

And  may  its  cross  burn  in  thy  heart, 
Till  thou  art  strong  again. 


"  If  bluer,  softer  eyes  than  mine, 
Seem  worlds  of  Love  to  thee, 

If  other  lips  and  other  tones 
Crowd  out  my  memory, 

Still  be  this  chain  about  thy  soul 
To  draw  thee  back  to  me." 


And  so  they  parted  ;  —  she,  to  wear 
Above,  an  angel's  crown  ; 

And  he,  to  feel  on  land  or  sea, 
In  forest  or  in  town, 

A  cross  and  chain  upon  his  heart 
From  the  far  Heaven  let  down. 


CAPE-COTTAGE  AT  SUNSET. 


WE  stood  upon  the  ragged  rocks, 

When  the  long  day  was  nearly  done ; 

The  waves  had  ceased  their  sullen  shocks, 

And  lapped  our  feet  with  murmuring  tone, 

And  o'er  the  bay  in  streaming  locks, 
Blew  the  red  tresses  of  the  Sun. 


Along  the  West  the  golden  bars 
Still  to  a  deeper  glory  grew ; 

Above  our  heads  the  faint,  few  stars 

Looked  out  from  the  unfalhomed  blue  : 

And  the  far  city's  clamorous  jars 

Seemed  melted  in  that  evening  hue. 


108  CAPE-COTTAGE    AT    SUNSET. 

Oh,  sunset  sky  !  Oh,  purple  tide  ! 

Oh,  friends  to  friends  that  closer  pressed  ! 
Those  glories  have  in  darkness  died, 

And  ye  have  left  my  longing  breast : 
I  could  not  keep  you  by  my  side, 

Nor  fix  that  radiance  in  the  West. 


Upon  those  rocks  the  waves  shall  beat 

With  the  same  low  and  murmuring  strain, 

Across  those  waves,  with  glancing  feet, 
The  sunset  rays  shall  seek  the  main ; 

But  when  together  shall  we  meet, 
Upon  that  far-off  shore  again ! 


THY  NAME. 


IT  was  not  that  the  dizzy  dance 

Had  made  my  senses  swim, 
It  was  not  that  my  aching  glance, 

Beneath  the  lights  grew  dim  ; 
But  o'er  my  cheek  and  o'er  my  brow 

The  fearful  paleness  came, 
Because,  with  laugh  at  thy  light  vow, 

I  heard  them  breathe  thy  name. 


I  thought  that  time  had  lulled  to  sleep 

The  old  and  weary  pain, 
That  Pride  had  made  the  grave  too  deep 

For  Love  to  rise  again  ; 

10 


110  THY    NAME. 

But  ah,  amid  that  scene  of  mirth, 
With  power  and  might  the  same 

As  when  thy  love  made  lovely  Earth, 
Fell  on  my  ear  thy  name. 


Where  art  thou,  lost  one  !  —  if  there  be 

One  spell  to  guide  thy  track, 
I  pray  that  Heaven  would  teach  it  me, 

So  I  might  call  thee  back  ; 
But  no,  I  feel  the  angry  flush 

Light  up  my  cheek  like  flame, 
'Tis  not  the  glow  of  Love,  —  I  blush 

Because  I  breathed  thy  name. 


Not  on  my  lips  again  in  Life, 

Those  words  shall  ever  dwell, 
Ah,  would  that  I  could  still  the  strife 

Within  my  heart  as  well : 
Hadst  thou  but  kept  thy  plighted  vow, 

I  had  not  known  this  shame, 
Nor  cursed  the  hour,  as  I  do  now, 

When  first  I  heard  thy  name. 


TO  ONE  AWAY. 


THE  stars  are  in  the  cold,  blue  sky, 
Their  watch  fires  blaze  as  thick  and  high, 
As  when  we  turned  a  loving  eye 

From  them  to  one  more  dear,  Mary ; 
I  look  on  them  to-night  alone, 
They  shine  not  now  as  once  they  shone, 
There  is  a  glory  from  them  gone, 

For  thou  no  more  art  here,  Mary. 


Kind  tones  are  lingering  near  me  still, 
Sweet  echoes  ring  from  Memory's  hill, 
Ah!  once  they  woke  a  tender  thrill, 

Because  they  all  were  thine,  Mary : 


112 


TO    ONE    AWAY. 


But  now  I  cannot  care  to  hear 
A  gentle  word,  an  accent  dear, 
No  loving  hopes  or  fears  they  bear 
From  my  heart  unto  thine,  Mary. 


There  was  a  time  when  roses  flushed 
With  starlight  heard  our  voices  hushed 
To  whispers,  for  thy  fair  cheeks  blushed 

To  know  I  loved  thee  well,  Mary : 
There  was  a  time  when  Passion  poured 
Its  wealth  o'er  every  gentle  word, 
Which  thou  nor  I  shall  cease  to  hoard, 

While  Love  its  tale  shall  tell,  Mary. 

But  now  the  flowers  have  lost  their  bloom, 
And  vainly  comes  their  sweet  perfume 
To  woo  away  the  deepening  gloom 

From  scenes  that  once  were  fair,  Mary 
It  is  enough  to  know  that  thou 
Art  gone,  that  on  my  lip  and  brow 
Can  come  no  more  the  kisses  now 

That  once  would  linger  there,  Mary. 


AT  LAST. 


YES,  the  sleep  that  thou  art  sleeping, 

Never  has  a  dream  of  me, 
And  the  watch  that  Death  is  keeping 

Is  more  fixed  than  Love's  could  be  ; 
Yet  I  almost  bless  the  coldness 

Of  the  grave  they  show  as  thine, 
For  it  gives  this  thought  of  boldness, 

Thou,  in  death  at  least,  art  mine. 


Loving  smiles  and  looks  that  won  thee, 

Do  not  haunt  thy  slumbers  now, 
Kisses  that  were  rained  upon  thee, 

Press  no  more  thy  lip  or  brow  : 
But  my  heart  that  gave  no  token 

Of  a  love  so  deeply  thine, 
Now  thy  chords  of  Life  are  broken, 

Murmurs  "  Thou,  in  Death,  art  mine." 
10* 


LAUNCHING. 


WELL  may  they  deck  the  ship  to-day 

With  colors  flaunting  free, 
Well  may  she  wear  her  best  array, 

So  soon  a  bride  to  be ; 
Long  hath  the  dainty  beauty  kept 

Her  lover  from  her  charms, 
But  now  her  last  lone  sleep  is  slept, 

We  give  her  to  his  arms. 


Ah,  guard  our  darling  from  the  storm, 

Thy  bosom  never  bore 
A  prouder  or  more  faultless  form, 

A  fairer  love  before  : 
Tame  down  thy  billows'  thundering  shocks, 

Thy  foaming  wrath,  oh  Sea ! 
And  keep  her  from  the  angry  rocks 

That  lie  along  her  lee. 


LAUNCHING.  115 

Her  home  has  been  where  green  hills  kiss 

The  river's  rippling  tide, 
But,  ah,  our  eyes  must  learn  to  miss 

The  Ocean's  new  made  bride. 
Where  white  capped  waves  forever  rise, 

Where  sea-birds  skim  the  foam, 
Far  off,  beneath  the  sea-kissed  skies, 

Our  Beauty  seeks  her  home. 


Ah,  proud  may  be  the  mariners, 

That  stand  upon  her  deck, 
They  little  fear  in  strength  like  hers, 

The  tempest  or  the  wreck  : 
And  proudly  may  her  ensign  fly 

That  bears  the  stripes  and  stars, 
The  peace  that  builds  a  ship  like  this, 

Is  worth  a  thousand  wars. 


Float  on,  oh  flag,  and  gaily  stream 

Above  an  honored  name, 
Though  bright  your  starry  folds  may  gleam, 

Still  brighter  is  his  fame  : 
Not  idle  was  the  wish,  or  vain, 

That  styled  alike  should  be 
The  bravest  of  the  battle  plain, 

The  proudest  of  the  Sea ! 


TO  E.  G.-H.,  AN  INFANT. 


DEAR  liit!e  stranger,  thou  perhaps  mayst  never 

Gaze  on  the  one  who  dreams  to-night  of  thee, 
And,  where  the  ripples  of  thy  calm  life  quiver, 

My  bark  rnay  seldom  steer  from  stormier  sea  : 
On  me  will  rest  the  deeply  printed  traces 

Of  Time  and  Care,  when,  on  thy  spotless  brow, 
Dwells  the  pure  love-light  which  Youth's  angel  places, 

That  love-light  which  is  dawning  even  now. 


Still  let  me  quell  the  sorrowful  reflection 

That  Time  to  thee  brings  Youth,  to  me  but  Age  ; 
And  let  thine  infancy  awake  affection 

To  guide  my  fingers  o'er  this  idle  page  ; 
For  thou  art  of  that  band  whose  souls  are  stainless 

As  those  who  watch  us  kindly  from  on  high  ; 
Thou  art  an  infant,  ah,  the  task  is  painless 

For  man  to  love  when  such  as  thou  art  nigh. 


JANET.  121 

Our  path  with  flinty  points  may  be  encrusted, 

Though  it  seemed  smooth  and  soft  in  hopeful  Youth, 

And  friends,  whose  faith  we  fearlessly  had  trusted, 
May  fail  us  when  we  sorest  need  their  truth. 


But  yet  I  cannot  doubt  thy  stainless  spirit, 

Must  ever  'round  it  feel  an  arm  of  power, 

Thine  innocence  must  from  its  God  inherit 
A  strength  to  save  it  in  the  darkest  hour : 

I  cannot  doubt  that  light  will  be  around  thee, 
As  warm  as  that  which  once  in  Eden  fell, 

I  pray  that  Life  may  find,  as  it  hath  found  thee, 

Untouched  by  Care,  unvexed  by  Grief,  —  Farewell. 


11 


THE  HEALTH. 


WHEN  others  pledge  the  one  they  love, 

I  do  not  breathe  thy  name, 
The  revelry  that  wine  may  move, 

Its  music  would  profane  ; 
But,  stealing  from  the  crowd  apart, 

Though  bright  the  goblet  be, 
From  the  deep  worship  of  my  heart, 

I  fill  a  health  to  thee. 


When  other  eyes  around  me  shine, 

When  other  lips  are  near, 
With  smiles,  perhaps  as  bright  as  thine, 

But,  oh,  not  half  so  dear, 
They  can  but  wake  the  memory 

Of  thy  last  glance  or  tone, 
And  sweet  those  smiles  or  looks  may  be, 

I  think  of  thine  alone. 


THE  SEA  SIDE. 


HE  sits  in  the  dolorous  twilight, 

And  looks  o'er  the  mocking  sea,  — 

"  And,  oh,  but  the  days  are  weary, 

Wilt  thou  never  come  back  to  me. 


Come  back  with  the  tender  love-light, 
In  the  depths  of  thy  hazel  eye, 

Come  back  with  the  olden  fondness, 
And  the  love  of  days  gone  by." 


"  Should  I  come  if  the  light  had  faded, 
In  eyes  that  have  wept  for  thee  ? 

Should  I  come  if  the  heart  was  broken, 
That  had  loved  so  faithfully  ?" 


124 


THE    SEA    SIDE. 


Did  that  voice  float  6ver  the  water, 
Or  was  it  the  sigh  of  the  sea  ? 

But  he  said  —  "  If  thy  heart  is  broken, 
Then,  darling,  come  back  to  me." 


A  step  on  the  beach  beside  him, 

And  an  arm  about  him  thrown, 

And  the  loved,  but  the  lost  of  Youth-time, 
Comes  back  to  him,  all  his  own. 


STANZAS. 


WHEN  wilt  thou  think  of  me  ?  —  Perhaps  forever 

My  lip  of  thine  hath  taken  its  farewell, 
Perhaps  upon  Life's  mystic  current  never 

Our  hearts  together  thus  may  own  its  spell, 
The  light  of  Youth  is  warmly  sleeping  'round  thee, 

The  hopes  of  Youth  within  thy  heart  are  high, 
But  when  the  cares  and  griefs  of  Time  have  found  thee, 

Say,  wilt  thou  waken  earlier  memory, 

And  sometimes  think  of  me  ? 


When  wilt  thou  think  of  me  ?  —  When  there  are  glances 
Of  eyes  that  to  thy  heart  must  find  a  way, 

When  there  are  words  shall  lap  thee  in  sweet  trances, 
Where  Love  shall  hold  a  strong  but  rapturous  sway, 

When  other  forms  beside  thee  shall  be  kneeling, 
Hanging  upon  thy  lightest  look  or  tone, 
II* 


126  STANZAS. 

Or  with  their  passionate  words  the  hope  revealing, 
That  ne'er  before  their  spirits  dared  to  own, 

Thou  needst  not  think  of  me. 


But  when  the  vows  that  wayward  lips  have  spoken, 

Like  the  bright  dreams  they  wakened,  melt  away, 
When  change  and   coldness  young  Love's  wand  have 
broken, 

And  Passion's  idols  break  like  Gods  of  clay, 
Thou  mayst,  perchance,  recall  the  long  fled  vision, 

That  far  away  in  memory's  keeping  lies, 
When  Life  to  me  was  clad  in  hues  Elysian, 

Caught  from  the  lustre  of  thy  liquid  eyes, 

And  kindly  think  of  me. 


Remember,  I  have  often  been  beside  thee, 

Though  dearer  ones  have  since  been  lingering  there, 
Think  that,  though  weary  miles  from  me  divide  thee, 

Nor  space  nor  time  can  check  the  spirit's  prayer, 
Dream  that  a  fond  heart  yet  is  clinging  to  thee 

Whose  faith  hath    known,  can  know  no  chill   or 

change, 
For,  from  the  sacred  hour  when  first  I  knew  thee 

Its  hopes  have  sought,  have  found  no  higher  range, 
Than  but  to  dream  of  thee ! 


WERT  THOU  BUT  MINE. 


I  DREAM  sweet  dreams,  and,  in  their  blessed  light, 
I  seem  to  feel  thy  soft  arms  'round  me  twine, 

The  vision  fleeth  with  the  shades  of  night, 

But  not  my  earnest  prayer,  "  Wert  thou  but  mine." 


"  Wert  thou  but  mine,"  —  in  those  fond  words  is  kept 
The  secret  where  Life's  wildest  hopes  combine, 

All  other  passions  in  my  heart  have  slept, 

This  ever  wakes,  and  sighs  "  Wert  thou  but  mine." 


"  Wert  thou  but  mine,"  —  to-night  the  stars  are  set 
In  the  blue  Heaven,  but  dim  and  cold  they  shine, 

Oh,  they  were  brighter  on  that  eve  we  met, 

That  eve  I  whispered, "  Love,  wert  thou  but  mine." 


"  Wert  thou  but  mine,"  —  I  have  no  other  prayer, 
I  bow  rny  knee  before  no  other  shrine, 

Each  spot  is  holy  if  thy  form  is  there, 

Earth  would  be  Heaven  itself,  wert  thou  but  mine. 


STANZAS. 


THE  song  you  sang  is  thrilling  yet 

With  all  its  sweetness  in  my  mind, 
Ah  !  in  that  echo  I  forget 

The  broken  hopes  I  leave  behind ; 
Sing  it  once  more,  —  yet  no,  that  spell 

I  would  not  have  disturbed  again, 
Where  those  dear  tones  of  music  fell, 

Have  fled  forever  grief  and  pain. 


The  glance  that  through  your  lashes  stole, 

Burns  in  my  heart  with  quenchless  ray  ; 
Ah,  thus  the  speech  of  soul  to  soul, 

In  silent  utterance  finds  its  way  : 
Look  on  me  now,  —  yet  no,  those  eyes 

Should  with  their  lids  be  curtained  o'er, 
A  colder  look  in  coldness  dies, 

That  love-glance  lives  forever  more. 


THE  FLEMING'S  TRUE  LOVE. 


HE  lay  beside  the  river, 

In  the  yellow,  cold  moonshine, 
"  What  walks  between  the  waves  and  me  ? 

Is't  thou,  true  love  of  mine  ? 


"  And  have  you  crossed  the  ocean, 
And  have  you  crossed  the  land, 

That  I  may  kiss  thy  ruddy  lips, 

And  press  thy  warm,  soft  hand  ?" 


"  You  shall  kiss  my  lips  so  ruddy, 

You  shall  press  this  hand  of  mine, 

I  knew  that  I  should  find  thee  here, 
In  the  yellow,  cold  moon-shine." 


130         THE  FLEMING'S  TRUE  LOVE. 

The  maiden's  lips  he  kisses, 

He  takes  the  maiden's  hand, 

But  they  are  cold  as  winter's  snow, 
And  white  as  the  sea-sand. 


"  True  love,  thy  lips  have  chilled  me, 
Cold  is  this  hand  of  thine,"  — 

And  the  Fleming  lay  all  stark  and  still, 
In  the  yellow,  cold  moon-shine. 


LAND-BREEZES. 


Down  some  bright  river  hast  thou  never  drifted, 

And  marked  on  either  side, 
Green  fields  and  slopes  with  cedarn  valleys  rifted, 

That  met  the  wooing  tide  ; 


Fair  groves,  all  panoplied  with  summer's  armor, 
Knolls,  where  the  wild  bee  roams, 

And,  o'er  the  whole,  a  deeper  light  and  warmer, 
The  light  of  happy  homes  ? 


And  as  thy  bark  was  downward  dropping  slowly, 

By  spots  and  scenes  like  these, 
Upon  thy  brow,  with  kisses  calm  and  holy, 

Lingered  the  warm  land-breeze. 


132  LAND-BREEZES. 

The  river  widened,  and  its  sandy  verges, 

Crept  from  thee,  either  way, 
And  on  thine  ear  were  borne  the  ocean's  surges, 

Upon  thy  lip  its  spray. 


In  its  tumultuous  strife  and  ceaseless  tossing, 

Its  agony  and  storm, 
From  shores  that  thou  hadst  left,  thy  damp  brow  crossing, 

Blew  soft  that  land-breeze  warm. 


Unnoticed  then  were  billows  huge  and  dashing, 

Unmarked  the  tempest's  roar ; 
Thou  only  heardst  the  waters  crisply  washing, 

Upon  the  river's  shore. 


Down  some  bright  stream  of  Song  thy  heart  has  floated, 

And  seen,  each  side  inclined, 
Far  stretching  plains,  to  noblest  thought  devoted, 

Green  hill-sides  of  the  mind. 


Fair  groves,  where  earnest  Hopes  were  boldly  growing, 

Gardens  of  Love  and  Truth  ; 
And  o'er  the  whole  the  Poet's  heart  was  throwing, 

Its  Passion  and  its  Youth. 


LAND-BREEZES.  133 

By  bluffs  of  Wit,  by  nooks  of  Fancy  gliding, 

Drifted  thy  bark  along, 
While  o'er  thy  spirit,  with  a  sweet  abiding, 

Dallied  the  breeze  of  Song. 


Till  the  perpetual  swell  of  fierce  emotion, 

Of  restless  care  and  strife, 
Foretold  that  thou  wert  nearing  that  broad  ocean, 

The  mighty  sea  of  Life. 


Across  its  waves  forever  high  and  crested, 

Forever  icy  cold, 
Fluttered  that  breeze  from  shores  where  once  it  rested, 

And  lapped  thee  in  its  fold. 


Oh !  weary  voyager  on  that  Atlantic 

Of  human  woe  and  wrong, 
Didst  thou  not  see  its  billows  wild  and  frantic, 

Lulled  by  the  Breeze  of  Song  ? 


THE  LOST  PLEIAD. 


WE  never  weary  when  the  Poet  sings 

Of  Love's  deep  wrongs,  or  of  their  just  requital, 
The  tale  a  charm  about  our  spirits  flings, 

Fresher  with  each  recital. 


For  gentle  influences  fill  the  heart, 

Though  selfishness  or  pride  had  barred  its  portal, 
And  with  their  nameless  power  awake  that  part 

Of  us  which  is  immortal. 


And,  as  we  read  how  young  hearts  loved  in  vain, 
There  comes  a  sympathy,  a  secret  yearning, 

That  summons  back  our  spirits'  earliest  pain 
Through  Memory's  fields  returning. 


THE    LOST    PLEIAD. 


135 


Or,  if  the  page  but  tells  of  joy-lit  eyes, 

But  speaks  of  hopes  untinged  with  grief  or  sadness, 
Remembrances  of  happy  days  arise, 

When  Life  was  Love  and  Gladness. 


So  if  I  weave  in  idle  rhyme  the  tale 

Of  the  Lost  Pleiad,  haply  it  may  waken 

Some  strain  of  Memory's  music,  sweet  though  frail, 
As  the  lute  gives,  breeze-shaken. 


Long,  long  ago  when  Gods  with  mortals  dwelt, 
So  runs  the  old  and  classic  Grecian  story, 

When  o'er  the  shrines  at  which  their  votaries  knelt 
Was  flung  their  visible  glory  ; 


When  every  forest  echoed  with  the  strains, 

From  some  Pan's  pipe  in  witching  cadence  ringing, 

Whose  music  now  in  Grecian  verse  remains, 
Like  faint  and  far  off  singing ; 


When  heroes  who  on  Earth  had  nobly  died, 

Leaving  a  name  that  breathed  of  gallant  daring, 

Were  by  their  wondering  fellows  deified 
A  War-God's  title  bearing ; 


136 


THE    LOST    PLEIAD. 


When  from  the  heights  of  some  vine-covered  hill, 
The  sacred  laurel  'round  his  temples  wreathing, 

Earth's  daughters  heard,  with  pulses  hushed  and  still. 
Apollo's  love-song  breathing ; 


In  that  sweet  time  when  Earth  was  fresh  and  young, 
Unstirred  by  Time  from  out  its  infant  slumbers, 

Seven  sisters  in  a  Grecian  valley  sung 
In  sweet  and  rapturous  numbers. 


Their  lyres  were  redolent  of  magic  song, 

And  from  their  lips  such  blissful  tones  were  falling, 
Immortals  listened  eagerly  and  long, 

Bound  by  the  spell  enthralling. 


Such  music  was  too  beautiful  for  Earth, 

So,  on  one  bright  and  cloudless  summer  even, 

The  maids  were  placed,  despite  their  mortal  birth, 
Among  the  stars  of  Heaven. 


And  there  the  notes  that  once  were  heard  below, 

Fell  from  their  lyres  and  lips  so  wildly  thrilling, 

It  seemed  as  if  the  glad  and  golden  flow 
Of  Song  the  sky  was  filling. 


THE    LOST    PLEIAD.  137 

And  mortals  gazing  on  the  starry  band, 

As  Hesper  led  them  at  the  daylight's  dying 

Up  to  their  place  in  Heaven,  on  Earth  would  stand, 
At  their  departure  sighing. 

Each  eve,  a  virgin  choir,  their  vesper  hymn 

Throughout  Jove's  courts  was  softly,  sweetly  steal- 
ing. 

Nor  ceased  till  morning  came,  cold,  gray  and  dim, 
Their  starry  crowns  concealing. 

But  ever  when  they  met  at'  night  to  sing, 

Love  came  to  listen  to  those  accents  holy, 

Spell-bound,  with  fervent  eye  and  folded  wing 
Charmed  by  their  beauty  solely. 

For  there  was  one,  the  fairest  of  the  band, 

With  lustrous  eyes  and  long  and  silken  tresses, 

Close  to  whose  side  the  God  would  oftenest  stand, 
Seeking  her  sweet  caresses. 


And  faint  and  fainter  grew  the  notes  that  fell 

From  the  sweet  harp  of  that  bewildered  maiden, 

Or  if  it  woke  a  more  harmonious  swell 
It  was  with  passion  laden. 
1* 


138  THE    LOST    PLEIAD. 

One  night  their  song  was  hushed,  for  there  was  one, 
Who  of  her  flight  had  left  a  mournful  token, 

There  at  their  feet  was  flung  her  starry  crown, 
Her  harp  was  lying  broken. 


Nor  in  his  place,  where  he  was  wont  to  be, 

Was  Love,  as  they  of  old  had  known  him  linger. 

Charmed  by  the  wild  and  wondrous  witchery 
Of  that  young,  beauteous  singer* 


They  mourned,  but  all  in  vain,  no  more,  no  more, 
Came  their  fair  sister  to  her  place  returning, 

And  in  the  skies  where  Seven  had  shone  before, 
One  Star  has  quenched  its  burning. 


LITTLE  NELL. 


THOU  standest  in  Life's  morning  ray, 

A  bright-eyed  spirit,  though  a  child, 
Upon  thy  feet  the  sunbeams  play, 
And,  glittering,  trace  a  golden  way, 

With  sorrow  undefiled  ; 
With  tearless  gaze  thy  trusting  eyes 
Look  out  on  scenes  like  Paradise. 


Around  thy  path  the  roses  spring, 

And  violets  bathed  with  dews  of  Heaven, 
Love  o'er  thy  dear  form  spreads  its  wing, 
Hearts  beat  for  thee  that  still  will  cling 

To  thine  while  life  is  given : 
An  angel  walketh  by  thy  side 
Thyself  to  shield,  thy  steps  to  guide. 


140  LITTLE    NELL. 

Thou  dwellest  in  a  fairy  land, 

With  Childhood's  roseate  sky  above  thee, 
Bright  visions  rise  at  thy  command, 
And  soft-eyed  spirits  near  thee  stand, 

Whose  only  care  is  but  to  love  thee  ; 
Thou  seest  them,  they  fill  thy  dreams 
Like  music  born  of  woodland  streams. 

Time  hurries  on,  its  current  strong, 

Will  bear  thee  down  its  ceaseless  tide, 
And,  borne  upon  the  breath  of  Song, 
My  prayers  shall  waft  thy  bark  along, 

Would  that  my  hand  could  guide ; 
So  should  it  float  o'er  placid  waves, 
By  banks  whose  flow'rets  sunlight  laves. 

In  romance  thou  wilt  read  of  one, 

Who  bore  thy  loved  and  gentle  name, 
For  her  all  clouded  was  Life's  sun, 
Life's  blessings  seemed  her  path  to  shun, 

And  grief  her  heart  to  claim  ; 
Yet,  though  a  weary  path  she  trod, 
It  reached  at  last  the  throne  of  God. 

Not,  not  for  thee  her  lot  of  tears, 

Thy  path  in  life  should  brighter  be, 


LITTLE    NELL.  141 


But  all  that  "  Little  Nell"  endears, 
All  that  so  angel-like  appears, 
May  it  be  found  in  thee  ! 
My  prayer,  my  wish  is  told,  Farewell, 
God  bless  and  guard  thee,  Little  Nell. 


LENORE. 


THE  weary  night  of  Winter 

Had  closed  the  wearier  day, 
And  he  sat  amid  the  firelight, 

With  a  fancy  far  away ; 
For  the  brow  in  wrinkles  knotted, 

And  the  lip  that  quivered  fast, 
Told  how  his  soul  was  smitten 

By  the  sorcery  of  the  Past : 
Oh,  wonderful  Magician ! 

Could  I  but  read  thy  lore, 
I  should  know  what  spell  awakened 

That  vision  of  LENORE. 


LENORE.  143 

It  was  no  longer  Winter, 

In  that  wondrous  dream  and  rare, 
But  the  earth  was  green  with  Summer, 

And  Song  was  in  the  air, 
The  chain  of  age  was  loosened, 

And  his  form  was  lithe  and  young, 
Love's  light  was  in  his  glances, 

Love's  words  were  on  his  tongue  ; 
He  was  walking  by  the  river, 

On  its  shelving,  sandy  shore, 
In  a  summer's  fragrant  twilight, 

And  with  him  walked  LENORE. 


In  his  breast  that  sudden  passion, 

Had  again  its  secret  birth, 
And  he  only  saw  one  Being, 

Heard  one  voice  alone  on  Earth. 
They  walked  together  slowly, 

And  her  hand  in  his  was  lain, 
But  the  light  touch  of  those  fingers 

Thrilled  him  through  with  pleasant  pain  : 
"  I  am  sad,  yet  very  happy  ;" 

This  he  said  and  nothing  more, 
But,  in  his  eyes  once  looking, 

She  knew  he  loved  LENORE. 


144  LENORE. 

Oh,  words  of  lowest  cadence  ! 

Oh,  glances  filled  with  fire ! 
Ye  fill  the  sleeper's  vision 

With  soft,  renewed  desire  ; 
Again  each  golden  morning, 

Again  each  tranquil  night, 
Bring  back  the  olden  rapture, 

The  tremulous  delight  : 
Love's  hands  have  filled  Life's  chalice, 

And  every  drop  they  pour, 
Is  but  a  fresh  oblation 

To  her,  the  loved  LENORE. 


It  is  Autumn  in  his  vision, 

And  fade  the  leaf  and  flower, 
And  in  his  heart  are  fading 

The  hopes  of  Summer's  hour ; 
The  rain  is  falling  slowly, 

Where  Sunshine  once  had  lain, 
And  tears  are  flowing,  telling 

The  heart's  unspoken  pain  ; 
The  birds  are  flying  southward, 

To  seek  a  warmer  shore, 
Farewell  to  them  and  Summer, 

Farewell  to  thee,  LENORE  ! 


LENORE.  145 


Gone  is  the  winged  vision, 

Its  hopes,  its  fears,  all  gone, 
And,  awakened,  he  is  sitting 

In  the  firelight,  all  alone ; 
Yet  Slumber's  gracious  Angel 

Hath  blessed  him  ere  it  fled, 
So,  smiles  that  played  while  living, 

Will  beam  on  lips  when  dead  : 
No  light  gleams  in  the  chamber, 

Nor  glows  upon  the  floor, 
But  when  shall  die  in  darkness 

That  vision  of  LENORE  ! 


13 


FLIGHT. 


He,  walking  up  the  path. 

IT  is  the  window,  see,  the  rays 

Shoot  forth  from  her  pale,  beacon  lamp  ; 
Warm  on  my  heart  falls  that  dear  blaze, 

And  blesses  this  midnight  dark  and  damp 
Cover  me  close,  oh,  wide-winged  night ! 
And  guide  me,  cresset  flame  !  aright : 
And  while  my  song  the  dusk  air  stirs 
Reach,  reach,  oh  Song !  no  ear  but  hers. 

He,  singing. 

If  thou  hast  slept,  the  cloudy  sky 

Must  shed  no  opiates  on  thine  eye  ; 

If  thou  hast  dreamed,  the  winged  dream 

Must  fly ; 

For,  oh,  there  comes  a  waking  dream, 

Since  1  am  nigh. 


FLIGHT.  147 

I  bring  the  true  heart,  oh,  how  true, 
That  watches  the  long  daylight  through, 
And  kisses,  than  which  no  lip  more  warm, 
E'er  knew  ; 

And  the  heart  of  truth  and  kisses  warm 
Are  all  for  you. 


What  is  the  day,  the  dreary  day, 
To  me  since  thou'rt  away,  away ! 
But  when  there  flows  from  raven  skies 
No  ray, 

I  watch  the  rising  of  thine  eyes,  — 
Awake,  I  pray. 

He,  speaking. 

So,  darling,  close  and  closer  yet, 

Upon  my  lip  thy  red  lip  set, 

And  open  the  petals  of  thy  heart, 

Like  the  flushed  moss  rose-bud's,  wide  apart, 

That,  bee-like,  I  may  shut  me  there, 

Where  the  dews  of  passion,  deep  and  rare, 

May  drown  my  sense  and  blind  my  sight 

To  all  things,  all  but  thee ; 

Darling !  who  hates  the  lovely  night ! 

It  gives  this  gift  to  me, 


148  FLIGHT. 

She,  speaking. 

I  thought  of  thee  when  on  my  sight  the  twilight  creeping 
Shut  out  the  earth,  and  left  me,  dearest,  sadly  weeping ; 
I  thought  of  thee,  when,  timid  at  my  bedside  praying, 
Thy  blessed   name   through  all   my  holiest  thoughts  was 

straying ; 

I  dreamed  of  thee  when  the  dim  lamp  began  to  flicker, 
And  on  my  soul  the  veil  of  Sleep  fell  heavier,  thicker  ; 
I  dreamed  of  thee  when  o'er  my  open  casement  ledges 
The  flowers,  unseen  by  me,  thrust  in  their  perfumed  edges  ; 
I  woke  to  thee  to  hear  thy  sweet  song  upward  stealing, 
The  passion  that  I  dare  not  doubt  to  me  revealing, 
I  woke  to  thee  to  wish  thy  clinging  arms  about  me, 
I  came  to  thee,  for,  oh,  I  cannot  live  without  thee. 

He,  speaking. 

There's  a  flower  that  closes  by  day,  by  day, 

Its  lids  of  fragrance,  but  when  the  Sun 
Has  driven  his  fiery  barbs  away, 

Is  kissed  by  the  stars  alone,  alone. 
There's  a  gem  that  at  noontide  is  dim,  is  dim, 

And  shames  the  finger  it  rests  upon, 
But  seems  in  the  night-time  in  light  to  swim, 

Like  the  light  of  thine  eyes  alone,  alone. 
Sweet  flower  !  rich  gem  !  upon  this  breast, 
When  He  who  watches  has  gone  to  rest, 


FLIGHT. 

Thy  fragrance  lingers,  thy  brilliance  shines, 

In  seas  of  odor,  in  radiant  lines. 

List !  through  the  rose-environed  alleys, 

The  night  wind  with  the  fragrance  dallies ; 

You  can  hear  the  breezes  —  that  bold  brave  band, 

Lay  on  each  flower  their  shadowy  hand ; 

They  ruffle  the  leaves  and  petals,  and  steal 

To  the  heart  that  the  flower  would  fain  conceal  ; 

So  I,  like  the  night- wind,  have  swept  to  thee 

From  my  home  far  over  the  surging  sea ; 

I  have  clasped  thy  beauty,  thy  lips  I  kiss 

With  the  long  drawn  kiss  of  Love,  like  this. 

She,  speaking. 

And,  oh,  to  die  with  thee  beside  me, 

Were  not  so  much  a  death, 
And,  when  my  own  breath  was  denied  me, 

To  feel  on  my  cheek  thy  breath ; 
This,  this  to  feel,  and  thy  dear  hand  clasping 

My  own  in  the  fearful  strife, 
And  thine  ear  to  catch  my  last  low  gasping. 

It  would  not  be  Death,  but  Life. 
But  give  me  Life,  if  life  with  thee, 
Or  over  the  shore,  or  over  the  Sea, 
And  I  follow,  1  follow,  I  follow,  and  He 

Shall  follow  in  vain  ; 
13* 


149 


150  FLIGHT. 

For  the  might  of  Love  that  sets  me  free, 
Will  baffle  him  back  again. 

She,  singing. 

Where,  through  leafy  forest  arches, 

Silence,  like  a  conqueror,  marches, 

Where  the  cloud-rack's  shifting  shadow 

Staggers  o'er  the  open  meadow, 

Where  the  wave  with  treacherous  hand 

Strangles  the  unthoughtful  sand, 

Where  the  ocean  smites  the  skies, 

Till  it  blinds  their  starry  eyes, 
Through  the  forest,  by  the  meadow,  on  the  sand  and  o'er 

the  brine, 
Will  I  follow  thee  and  follow  thee  and  follow  to  be  thine. 

He,  speaking. 

See,  where  the  small  waves  kiss  the  shore, 
My  light  boat  rocks  and  waits  for  thee, 
And  thou  hast  told  me  o'er  and  o'er, 
That  where  I  went  was  Home  for  thee  ; 
Thou  wilt  not  fail  me,  —  no,  the  blood 
Of  thy  true  heart  flows  up  thy  cheek, 
Then  come,  —  before  us  lies  the  flood 
O'er  which  our  home  of  love  we  seek. 


FLIGHT.  151 

•S/ie,  singing. 

And  so,  Good-bye. 
I  leave  behind  me  fields  and  flowers, 
I  leave  the  place  of  Childhood's  hours, 
I  know  not  yet  what  home  is  ours, 

But  still,  Good-bye. 

A  long  Good-bye. 

I  know  what  arm  is  'round  me  thrown, 
I  know  what  true  lip  meets  my  own, 
Whose  brown  locks  'midst  my  hair  are  blown, 

Yes,  yes,  Good-bye. 

He,  singing. 

A  long  Good-bye. 
I  came,  a  reckless  rover  here, 
I  found  and  won  all  Life  holds  dear, 
And  now,  light  heeds  the  Buccaneer 

To  bid  Good-bye. 

Once  more  Good-bye. 
I  held  Love's  vigil  while  He  slept, 
I  seized  the  prize  He  lightly  kept, 
And  to  His  ear  let  thus  be  swept 

My  last  Good-bye. 


152  FLIGHT. 

Together^  on  the  sea. 

Take  our  Good-bye 

Oh  land,  where  our  young  love  ran  rife  ! 
We  dare  the  billow's  storm  and  strife 
Together,  till  in  Death  to  Life 

We  bid  Good-bye. 


A  VAIN  REQUEST. 


"  FORGET  me  and  be  happy,"  Yes, 

I  might  be,  but  thy  form  and  face, 

In  all  their  quiet  loveliness, 

Have  left  upon  my  soul  a  trace 

So  deep,  Time  cannot  dim,  far  less 
A  single  line  erase. 


Forget  thee  !  how  can  I  forget  ? 

No  Lethe's  current  flows  for  me 
To  drink  oblivion  there,  and  yet 

I  would  not  from  thy  power  be  free ; 
No,  I  would  spurn  the  draught,  nor  let 

It  drown  one  thought  of  thee. 


154  A    VAIN    REQUEST. 

Forget  thee  !  no,  it  gives  not  pain, 
To  call  to  life  the  buried  Past, 

To  waken  in  my  mind  again 

Those  hours  of  love  that  flew  too  fast, 

And  firmly  rivet  Memory's  chain 
With  thy  last  look,  thy  last. 


Forget  thee  !  there  is  not  a  tone, 

A  glance,  a  sigh,  a  smile  of  thine, 

That  Passion  has  not  made  its  own, 
And  reared  for  it  a  holy  shrine  ; 

About  thy  very  name  is  thrown 
A  magic  half  divine. 


Forget  thee  !  no,  around  my  heart, 

Some  memories  cling  that  cannot  fade, 

And  I  must  with  existence  part, 

Ere  they  can  lose  their  slightest  shade  ; 

And  so,  where'er,  whate'er  thou  art, 
My  love  is  deathless  made. 


THE  CHURCH-YARD  AT  HOME. 


I  do  not  feel  the  ruthless  sleet, 

I  do  not  heed  the  cutting  cold, 
The  wings  of  Memory  o'er  me  meet, 

And  lap  me  in  their  soft,  warm  fold ; 
There  comes  a  long  blown  summer  breeze, 

There  rustles  grass  with  flow'rets  starred, 
And  fragrance  of  its  locust  trees 

Floats  to  me  from  a  green  Church-yard. 


Within  the  porch  I  stand  again, 

A  boy,  with  griefless  heart  and  eye, 
I  see  the  Sabbath-going  train, 

With  old-time  faces  passing  by ; 
They  walk  amid  the  shadows  flung 

By  trailing  boughs  on  grassy  sward, 
And  through  the  door,  wide  open  swung, 

They  enter  from  the  old  Church-yard. 


156  THE    CHURCH-YARD    AT    HOME. 

I  hear  the  loud  voiced  organ  send, 

Its  tones  of  blessing  o'er  the  throng, 
I  hear  the  hymns  of  praise  ascend, 

In  notes  of  sweetness  lingering  long ; 
The  steps  steal  softly  up  the  aisle, 

The  doors  with  no  harsh  clang  are  jarred, 
And,  through  the  panes,  the  sunbeam's  smile, 

Flows  fair  across  the  old  Church-yard. 


The  sunbeams  wander  through  the  place, 

And  rest  upon  one  gentle  form,  — 
Oh,  fairest  form  !  Oh,  dearest  face  ! 

Ye  made  the  sunshine  doubly  warm  ; 
The  loving  glance  to  me  that  steals, 

Hath  all  the  prayer  and  preaching  marred, 
I  only  see  who  near  me  kneels, 

She  only  hallows  that  Church-yard. 


Yes,  those  who  sung,  and  those  who  prayed, 

And  those  who  met  at  Sabbath  morn, 
And  she,  the  long  lost  one,  who  made 

That  spot  more  holy,  all  are  gone  ; 
Yet,  could  I  cross  the  weary  waste, 

By  which  the  past  is  from  me  barred, 
'Twould  be  one  moment  to  be  placed, 

In  boyhood,  in  that  dear  Church-yard. 


BALLAD. 


HE  met  her  in  the  forest  glade, 

Alone  and  poorly  clad  was  she, 
The  rank  and  riches  of  the  maid 

Were  truth  and  virgin  purity ; 
She  was  the  violet,  not  the  rose, 

Her  path  and  his  were  wide  apart, 
And  pride  of  birth  and  wealth  arose 

To  check  the  yearnings  of  his  heart. 


They  parted,  if  her  image  kept 

A  brief  enshrinement  in  his  mind, 
Passion  and  pleasure  o'er  it  swept, 

And  scorched  it  as  the  desert  wind ; 
But  she  had  looked  and  she  had  loved, 

That  love  she  knew  was  all  in  vain. 
And  even  hope  but  mockery  proved, 

For  they  might  never  meet  again. 
14 


158  BALLAD. 

They  met  again  within  the  glade, 

But  rank  and  wealth  were  his  no  more, 
And  scorned,  deserted  and  betrayed, 

His  faith  in  woman's  love  was  o'er  ; 
Yet  she  to  her  first  dream  was  true, 

Her  heart's  tide  throbbed  as  wild  and  warm 
As  when,  'neath  Fortune's  sun,  she  knew 

The  one  who  now  had  felt  its  storm. 


And  he  has  found  that  rank  and  wealth, 

Can  never  buy  so  sweet  a  flower, 
As  that  which  bloomed,  as  if  by  stealth, 

Within  that  humble  forest  bower : 
She  never  mourns  his  fallen  state, 

The  Exile's  young  and  blushing  bride, 
Nor  deems  she  that  an  adverse  fate 

Which  linked  his  fortunes  to  her  side. 


HOMELESS. 


She  stood  alone  on  the  sullen  pier, 

With  the  night  around  and  the  river  below, 
And  a  voice,  it  seemed  to  her  half  crazed  ear, 

Was  heard  in  the  water's  plashing  flow ; 
"  You  are  tired  and  worn,  come  hither  and  sleep, 
Where  your  poor,  dim  eyes  shall  cease  to  weep, 
And  no  morning  shall  break  in  sorrow." 


The  long  grass  hung  from  each  wave-washed  pile, 
And  the  water  amid  its  loose  locks  ran, 

And  she  thought  with  a  strange  and  ghastly  smile, 
Of  a  long  fled  day  and  a  false,  false  man, 

How  her  fingers  had  combed  his  damp,  brown  hair, 

But  he  and  the  World  had  left  her  there, 

With  no  friend  but  the  beckoning  water. 


160  HOMELESS. 

Was  Heaven  so  far  that  no  angel  arm 

Might  'round  the  Homeless  in  love  be  thrown, 

To  keep  her  away  from  hurt  or  harm  ? 
Or  was  it,  in  truth,  a  mercy  shown, 

That  left  her  at  night,  alone,  to  think 

Of  her  manifold  woes  upon  the  brink 

Of  that  deep  and  pitiless  river  ? 


She  looked  to  the  far  off  town  and  wept, 

And,  oh,  could  you  blame  the  poor  girl's  tear! 

For  she  thought  how  many  a  maiden  slept 
With  Love  and  Honor  as  wardens  near ; 

While  she  was  left  in  the  world  alone, 

With  none  to  miss  her  when  she  was  gone 

Where  the  merciless  waves  were  catling. 


No  human  eye  and  no  human  ear 

E'er  saw  a  struggle  or  heard  a  sound, 

And  the  curious  never  could  spare  a  tear, 

As  they  looked  at  morn  on  the  outcast  drowned  ; 

But,  ah,  had  speech  been  given  the  Dead, 

Perhaps  those  motionless  lips  had  said 

"  No  Homeless  are  found  in  Heaven." 


THE  LEE-SHORE. 


THE  blast  is  raging  landward, 
And  the  shore  is  on  our  lee, 

And  thy  cheek  is  chilled  with  kisses 
Of  the  rude  and  ravenous  Sea. 


Oh  !  when  in  storms  we  shuddered, 
And  grasped  each  other's  hand, 

Did  we  think  the  ship  was  sailing 

Where  we  should  curse  the  land  ? 


But  I  heard  our  staunch,  old  captain, 
Saying,  "  In  an  hour  or  more, 

"  We  shall  need  to  cry, '  God  help  us,' 
"  For  the  ship  will  strike  the  shore." 
14* 


162 


THE    LEE-SHORE. 


So,  clasp  thine  arm  about  me, 

And  clench  this  rope  with  me, 

Let  us  live  or  die  together, 

On  the  land  or  on  the  sea. 


I  am  thinking,  (canst  thou  hear  me 
In  this  re-echoing  roar  ?) 

Of  that  day  we  walked  together, 
Where  we  shall  walk  no  more. 


The  stream  flowed  fast  beside  us, 

And  we  stopped  in  silence  there, 

While  I  pulled  the  water-lilies 
And  tied  them  in  thy  hair. 


Now,  the  waves  that  flow  beside  us 
Bring  Death  to  thee  and  me, 

And  now  thy  hair  is  sparkling 

With  the  salt  foam  of  the  Sea. 


I  am  thinking,  (canst  thou  see  me 
By  the  lantern's  dying  light?) 

How  I  told  thee  of  my  passion, 
On  that  silent  summer  night. 


THE    LEE-SHORE.  163 

The  roses  were  around  us, 

And  the  grass  was  at  our  feet, 
And,  in  one  kiss  of  rapture, 

We  felt  our  young  hearts  meet. 


But  now  alone  the  tempest, 

And  the  flapping  sails  are  heard, 
And  I  kiss  but  lips  of  coldness, 

And  I  hear  no  answering  word. 


Drive  on,  oh  fated  vessel ! 

Dash  on  the  jagged  shore  ! 
Two  hearts  are  clung  together 

To  part  in  Life  no  more. 


MAMIE. 


FROM  the  rose-wreathed  window  falling, 
I  hear  a  sweet  voice  calling, 
Saying  "  Come  to  me,  my  darling, 

I  have  waited  long  for  thee," 
Ah,  how  can  I  lose  my  darling, 

Whom  the  morrow  bears  from  me. 


Though  I  press  her  to  me  nearly, 
Though  I  know  she  loves  me  dearly, 
Still  one  thought  of  sorrow  merely, 

Through  my  saddened  spirit  thrills, 
That  my  darling,  loved  so  dearly, 

Goes  when  morning  lights  the  hills. 


MAMIE.  165" 

Closer  to  thy  true  heart  press  me, 

With  thy  kisses  still  caress  me, 

With  thy  words  of  true  love  bless  me, 

Wind  me  in  thy  white  arms'  thrall  j 
Ah,  so  soon  to  cease  to  bless  me, 

Must  I,  darling,  lose  them  all  ? 


It  is  night,  but  still  I  borrow 
From  its  darkness  balm  for  sorrow, 
Oh,  I  only  dread  the  morrow 

That  will  take  my  love  away ; 
For  the  dawn  will  bring  but  sorrow, 

How  I  dread  the  coming  day. 


Not  one  good-bye  word  is  spoken, 
Nor  is  given  a  farewell  token, 
And  the  stillness  is  but  broken 

By  the  sigh  of  parting  pain ; 
But  we  know  what  love  is  broken, 

Shall  it  e'er  be  whole  again  ? 


MARY'S  WALK. 


HERE  is  the  path  we  trod  together, 

Side  by  side,  and  hand  in  hand 
In  the  beautiful  summer  weather, 

When  the  roses  were  in  the  land  ; 
Little  we  cared  for  the  golden  summer, 

Less  for  the  roses  that  flaunted  nigh, 
Each  to  each  was  a  dearer  comer 

Than  odorous  roses  or  summer's  sky. 


Here  it  was  that  the  words  were  spoken, 

Low  in  tone  and  in  number  few, 
Blessing  us  both  with  a  tender  token 

How  each  fond  heart  to  the  other  grew  ; 
Down  in  the  bushes  the  birds  were  singing, 

Down  in  the  west  the  sun  was  low 
But  a  dearer  song  in  our  ears  was  ringing, 

And  our  hearts  were  warmer  than  sunset  glow. 


L'  ENVOY. 


IF  aught  here  said  or  sung, 

Has  soothed  one  care  to  rest, 

One  hour  from  grief  has  wrung, 
Or  cheered  one  weary  breast, 

It  is  reward  enough,  and  thus  confessed. 


So  go,  ye  simple  rhymes, 

Go  forth,  and  -plead  for  me, 
Tell  how,  when  rung  the  chimes 

Of  Hope  or  Memory, 
One  heart,  at  that  sweet  sound,  sought  to  be  free  ; 


Sought  to  be  free,  and  spoke 

As  it  has  spoken  here  ; 
Not  all  in  vain  it  broke 

Through  its  repose,  for  near, 
Another  heart  replies  in  words  how  dear! 


168  L'  ENVOY. 

"  Oh,  golden  dreams  of  Youth  ! 

Oh,  Life's  glad  morning  prime  ! 
Oh,  days  of  Love  and  Truth  ! 

Your  long  lost  air  and  clime 
Come  back,  to  me  at  least,  in  this  poor  rhyme. 


THE       END. 


r 


^ni 


ifv 


13 


M191938 


953 


poe 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


